


You're The Only Kind of Love I Want

by tlkdr (SlimeQueen)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blindfolds, Blood Drinking, Body Swap, Bondage, Breathplay, Breeding, Choking, Cock Warming, Consensual Underage Sex, Crying, Cuckolding, Dirty Talk, Face Slapping, Feminization, Finger Sucking, First Time, Handcuffs, Kinktober 2020, Lingerie, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Play, One Shot Collection, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Painplay, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Richie Tozier Has a Big Dick, Rimming, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Sleepy Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Touch-Starved Eddie Kaspbrak, Virgin!Eddie Kaspbrak, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 61,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26744905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimeQueen/pseuds/tlkdr
Summary: Kinktober 2020: Reddie EditionDay 26: Body Swap/Age Difference“You’re an asshole,” Richie says, and tips his head back against the back of the sofa, his throat bobbing on a hard swallow, long and white and right there, perfect for Eddie to mouth at.He ducks forward and presses a chaste kiss to the underside of Richie’s jaw and he startles so hard he nearly knocks his chin against Eddie’s temple. His cheeks suspiciously red, Richie repeats “oh,you’re such a fuckingasshole, Eds.”“No,” Eddie purrs, slow, vindictive, right into the hinge of Richie’s jaw, scraping the soft swell of his lip against Richie’s stubble, “I’mjailbait, baby.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 208
Kudos: 512





	1. Praise Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie’s _looking_ , he realizes suddenly. Not with the faint amusement that pulls Eddie’s mouth into a half-smile, but with intensity behind his gaze. He is looking at Eddie with a purpose, eyes raking over Eddie’s legs, lean and miles long, tan from the California sun.
> 
> “Hey,” Eddie jokes, but his mouth has gone dry, and it comes out a little softer than he’d intended, “my eyes are up here, asshole.”

Bev can be as stubborn as a bull, when she wants to be.

She insists on sending Eddie clothes for his birthday, mentioning weeks in advance that she had designed them for him, thus taking away his ability to refuse them. Richie thinks it’s hilarious and makes him strip down to his underwear in their living room to take his measurements, and when Eddie yells at him for laughing, red-faced and flustered, he just cackles louder.

Which is unfair because Richie looks like a complete slob at least forty percent of the time, and Eddie looks like a slob literally never because he can’t go two days without showering and brushes his teeth after every single meal.

“Isn’t it just, a little, I don’t know… _gay_?” Richie says as he measures Eddie’s bare shoulders, so close that Eddie feels the warmth of his body through Richie’s single layer of clothing.

“Richie. We’re gay.”

“How contrived,” Richie sighs, and presses his cheek to Eddie’s neck, his arms snaking around his waist, hands pressing flat to Eddie’s stomach. He knows exactly where this is going.

“Who knows?” Richie says after he’s sent the measurements to Beverly and Eddie’s breathless from kissing him, “maybe she’ll send stuff that makes you look really hot—not that you aren’t already,” he appeases when Eddie glares at him.

* * *

The package comes on a Thursday. Eddie has taken up the task of collecting the mail every day because Richie forgets and lets it all pile up for weeks at a time, which Eddie’s routine-oriented brain takes very hard when he first moves in and discovers mail from a month ago overflowing from Richie’s mailbox.

It’s an inconspicuous long black cardboard box, slim and stylish. Eddie collects it when Richie is gone for an afternoon meeting with his agent so he can sort through the garments without Richie looming over his shoulder.

Eddie neatly peels the tape off the box and opens it up, sorting through the pair of shirts, the jacket, and the neat tailored pants that Bev had told him would stop at that _perfect_ length above his ankles. When he unfolds the jacket, another little slip of crepe-wrapped fabric falls out into the box, and Eddie removes the black crepe to reveal a rich scarlet scrap of fabric. Only, he thinks it’s a scrap of fabric until he lifts it up and realizes it’s a pair of shorts. Or some approximation of it, at least.

It’s very obviously lingerie. Eddie’s fingers skim along the satin hesitantly, and it’s cool against his knuckles, trimmed in a tiny bit of lace.

"Oh," Bev had assured him over the phone earlier that week, "I think it’s all very _you_. I'm sure you'll love it, Eds."

Eddie does not love it. He kind of wants to throw it away in the trash can in the guestroom bathroom where Richie will never find it, because lord knows Richie will never shut the fuck up about the time Beverly accidentally sent her underwear across the country to him.

He doesn't want to embarrass her, though. Surely, it had been a mistake—the shorts had probably gotten mixed in with the jacket and shirts she'd sent him, from her other designs, or perhaps even her own belongings. She doesn’t seem like she’s very into that kind of thing, though, from what Eddie remembers. Beverly’s always been more of a tomboy, through and through.

He calls her about it later, prepared to laugh about it and then ship the shorts back before Richie can get his hands on them and do something so very _Richie_ , like put them on and go to fetch the mail. He can imagine the tabloids already.

“Oh,” he mentions, real casual at the end of their conversation, after they’ve talked about the shirts she’s sent and they’ve each inquired about Richie and Ben, respectively, and each other, “I think you accidentally sent me an extra thing, though. I was looking through the box when I found these women’s shorts—do you want me to send them back?”

"No," Beverly says with the patience of a saint, "Eddie, the shorts are for _you_."

Eddie looks at the offensive scrap of fabric laid across his bed, the delicate lace trim such a lurid red against the dark comforter under it. "Oh," he says.

The shorts are for him. The _lingerie_ is for him.

“Get it?” Beverly is chuckling when he tears his gaze away and forces himself to tune back in, “Like those little shorts you always used to wear, the red ones.”

Eddie’s face flushes warm. “I remember the ones,” he says, because he has a pair very similar to them that drive Richie insane whenever he gets back from a morning run all sweaty and out of breath, the shorts riding up high on his lean thighs when he stops for a drink in the kitchen and climbs into a barstool at the island. Sometimes Richie presses him against the island then and there and trails warm kisses down his neck, unbothered even when Eddie complains about how he’s sweaty and feels subhuman right now, works him up until Eddie’s hard in his shorts and jerks him off before relinquishing him to the shower.

He presses the heel of his hand to his temple. _Focus, Kaspbrak._

“Not that I don’t appreciate this loving gesture, but Bev,” he sputters, “where on fucking earth can I wear these that Richie isn’t going to laugh at me until I knock him unconscious?”

Bev laughs wickedly and says, “Love you Eds, but I don’t think that’s what he’s going to be doing.”

Which, yes, admittedly makes Eddie think about Richie doing the whole Kitchen Island Daytime Fantasy thing while he’s in those little satin shorts, but he shoves the thought down and cries indignantly, cheeks stained red, “ _Bev_!” 

“ _Eddie_!” she says in a scarily accurate impression of his cadence, “come on, just give them a try. Your legs looked great then and I’m sure they’ll look great now.”

Her voice is amiable, but there’s a steeliness behind it that makes Eddie think he should really give them a try at some point.

“Okay,” he agrees with a sigh, “I’ll let you know.”

“Oh please,” she’d cried melodramatically over the line, “I need all the sexy, sexy details.”

This is definitely a lie, because the only one who complains more than her about how gross Richie and Eddie are being when they’re around other people is Stanley. Which is fair, Eddie thinks, because they’re both too handsy for their own good.

Although, his own need for physical affection is overwhelmingly out of a desire for proximity just as much as it is about him being horny. Richie likes it too, being pressed close to him, skin on skin, but Eddie suspects it’s a little bit different. Eddie hyperfixates on the warmth of Richie’s body sometimes, at the closeness and intimacy he’d missed out on for all those years in the middle when Richie had been lost to him.

It’s like making up for lost time, he theorizes sometimes while Richie sleeps, face slack and peaceful across the bed from him, and he’ll have to reach out, press his knuckles against Richie’s cheek as if to make sure he’s really there.

Eddie knows Richie well—even when he’d been young and thought he didn’t, when he’d been mystified and flustered by Richie’s charisma. And for this very reason, he refolds the shorts into the crepe paper and hides them away under the jacket again. He can bring it up to Richie on his own time, if the urge to put them on gets too strong.

* * *

"What was it?" Richie asks later, sidling up behind him while he's brushing his teeth.

Eddie is an idiot. Unthinkingly, he gestures to the package because his mouth is still full of minty foam, and Richie reaches for it, knocking the box open.

Eddie remembers the shorts at the exact moment that Richie pushes aside the jacket Beverly had sent and reveals the dark crepe paper he'd painstakingly rewrapped them in before replacing them in the box. Richie tears the delicate paper open immediately and before Eddie can tell him to stop, reveals the red satin, holding the little shorts in his hand.

He looks up at Eddie, eyes wide. "Oh," he says, and the sound is a little bit strangled.

Eddie spits toothpaste into the sink and sighs. Sometimes it's hard being this dumb. “That’s what I said.”

“For you to _wear_?” Richie asks, and unfolds the shorts, holding them to the light for inspection. “Hey, you know what these sort of look like? Remember when we were kids and you used to—oh my god.”

Eddie watches Richie’s face fill with recognition and feels his cheeks warm in reaction. “Shut up,” he protests, “It was the 80’s, Rich, wearing shorts that short was perfectly acceptable!”

“Oh Eds,” Richie says, grinning brightly at him, “You know what you have to do now, don’t you?”

Eddie takes one look at the shit-eating grin on Richie’s face and thinks its no wonder he’s gotten so good at pinpointing when his headaches start. “The only things I know are that I’m shipping those back to Bev first thing in the morning and that you have no room to talk when you’re literally wearing that,” he points to Richie’s shirt, a particularly gaudy blue button-down with fish printed all over it, “and before you ask, no you can’t try them on first.”

Richie reaches up real casual, grips a hand to the top of the doorframe, managing to look comfortable in the way only tall lanky men do just to prove they can reach the top without expending effort. Eddie can only touch the frame of these particular French doors on his tiptoes, he thinks with some dissatisfaction.

“ _I_ don’t want to try them on,” Richie says, eyes wide and guileless, “They’re for you, remember? Let me relive my fourteen-year-old self’s spank bank memories of those shorts through these.”

He holds the pair out towards Eddie expectantly and has the audacity to look offended when Eddie ignores the shorts and brushes past him into their bedroom.

“Come on, Eds,” Richie says, amusement clear on his face, “Try them on for me, please?”

Shit. Eddie’s curious. Of course, he is. How could he _not_ be, when Beverly had made them specially for him, taking care to send him such a beautifully made piece. He’d done a thorough examination on the stitching earlier, finding it neat and perfect. He’d wondered, for just a second, how smooth they’d feel against his skin—against _Richie’s_ , even, his long pale fingers splayed out against the slick red satin.

Eddie bites the inside of his cheek hard. After a second of contemplation, he finally takes them from Richie, grumbling, “If you say _anything_ , I’m sending them back first thing tomorrow.”

“Me?” Richie says, blinking innocently, “Why, I’ve never said a thing in my life!”

“If only,” Eddie says, but it’s with the faintest trace of a fond smile so that Richie knows he’s not being serious. He strips his own sensible pants down his legs and starts sticking his feet through the shorts when Richie hums thoughtfully.

“You can’t be planning on wearing _underwear_ , Eds,” he says, amused. Eddie looks down at his perfectly respectable black briefs. Definitely further down his thighs than the shorts will be.

He peels them off too, and—oh. The satin is so fucking soft against his bare skin, slippery and cool.

“Freaky,” Richie comments as he pulls them up his legs.

“Hah,” Eddie says, and rolls his eyes. He turns back towards the mirror with analytical eyes and examines the way they sit on his narrow hips, just a little too low. “My legs look so long, I look like Slenderman or something.”

He turns, evaluating the fit from another angle. They’re comfy, not really lewd or clinging to his ass like he’d assumed at first. Oh. Maybe he kind of does love them.

“What do you think?” he asks Richie, finally turning to face him.

Richie’s _looking_ , he realizes suddenly. Not with the faint amusement that pulls Eddie’s mouth into a half-smile, but with intensity behind his gaze. He is looking at Eddie with a purpose, eyes raking over Eddie’s legs, lean and miles long, tan from the California sun.

“Hey,” Eddie jokes, but his mouth has gone dry, and it comes out a little softer than he’d intended, “my eyes are up here, asshole.”

Richie finally tears his gaze from Eddie’s legs to look him in the face, his pale cheeks flushed. “Eds,” he says, “Oh my god, _Eds._ ”

Richie isn’t speechless often— in fact, he’s speechless far too rarely, in Eddie’s humble opinion on mornings where Richie won’t shut the fuck up and his brain hasn’t booted up yet enough for him to respond—but the expression on his face has Eddie relishing in the way he grasps at straws for something coherent to say.

“What?” Eddie asks, and hides his smile by turning back to the mirror, looking over his legs once again. The satin brushes the sparse hairs of his thighs when he shifts, and it is a sensation he’s never felt before.

And suddenly Richie sidles up behind him, turning him by the shoulder to make him stand straight so he can do a full inspection. Eddie tries not to wither under the intensity of his eyes.

“Eds,” he murmurs, and it’s reverent, so fucking soft that it makes Eddie’s heart feel over-full with love for him as he trails a slow hand down Eddie’s side, dragging his thumb over the sharp jut of Eddie’s hip bone and following the curve of it to the waistband of the shorts, “Eddie, holy shit, you’re so fucking pretty, baby.”

Eddie’s face cheeks flush warm when he finally raises his head and looks up at Richie, meets his eyes, which burn with something impassioned and unreckoned, the intensity of which makes Eddie instinctively want to look away. “You’re corny,” Eddie says, soft, head spinning with love.

Richie grins, an expression that is so genuinely and shamelessly happy that it makes Eddie’s throat tight. Richie deserves to look like this all the time, he thinks; unworried and soft, hair messy and glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. It would certainly set Eddie’s heart at ease.

“And you’re so sexy, Eddie Kaspbrak, that I would lay down at your feet and propose right now if we weren’t already married.” Richie says, and Eddie could die. He could die on the spot and not even care, because he’s so perfectly content in this moment, as Richie pulls him closer by the hip and leans down to kiss him, deep and slow, and Eddie just fucking melts.

“I feel like I’ve definitely had some weird horny fourteen-year-old wet dream about this,” Richie says when they part, and Eddie laughs, pressing his forehead to Richie’s chest, making himself small on purpose. Richie’s arms curl around him like it’s instinct, holding him closer just like he’d wanted.

Richie’s hands rest against the small of his back, warm and anchoring, not yet intentionally lustful, but Eddie whines against his throat anyways, nosing into the crook of his neck and shoulder.

“You know what?” Eddie says into the cottony detergent-scent of Richie’s shirt, “I think I probably have too.”

“Super lewd, Eds,” Richie says with a wolfish grin, “Like, _beyond_ lewd of you, you dirty pervert.”

His reply is on the tip of his tongue—a sharp, “ _Look who’s talking, Trashmouth_ ,” but Richie’s hands slide down fractionally and palm his ass through soft satin, lace scraping delicate and somehow rough at the same time against his skin, and Eddie whimpers instead, an embarrassing noise that reddens his cheeks.

It _is_ lewd, Eddie thinks, eyes slipping shut as Richie squeezes his ass again, drags his hips closer and presses Eddie’s dick against his thigh, where it swells quickly with arousal under Richie’s experienced fingers. Richie knows exactly what makes him oversensitive with it, dragging hot, hungry fingers over his thighs, rubbing his cock through the silky material, and it tears a gasp from Eddie’s throat, a sharp cry of Richie’s name that makes Richie grin roguishly down at him.

It’s lewd and obscene and dirty and Eddie should _hate_ it, the antithesis of everything he’s ever been conditioned to want, but Richie finally curls a hand over the outline of his dick, stark against the shimmering material, and Eddie doesn’t even fucking _care_ , moaning shameless and wanton and all the other so-called terrible things he’d never ever associated with himself.

Richie has a way of bringing this out in him like no one else—he always has, working Eddie up and getting under his skin. And Eddie had—oh he’d _liked_ it, shamefaced and secretive as a teen, yearning for Richie’s hands on his body in a way that had scared him at the time but only feels so, _so_ inherently correct now, when Richie presses a palm between his legs and cradles his cock carefully.

“You gonna cum for me?” Richie asks, and it’s sweet, much too sweet for what he’s asking. “Eds, you’re so hot, why are you so _hot_?”

Eddie’s dizzy with it, his head stuffed full of cotton, and it’s so hard to focus when Richie’s pressing idle kisses from his jaw all the way to the scar that graces his cheek. His mind’s too muddled for a coherent reply, and he ends up looking up at Richie with pleading dewy eyes, needily clinging to him and whimpering, “Please, _please_ Richie.”

Richie licks the pad of his thumb on his other hand, tongue flashing pink for a fraction of a second before he drops his hand back to Eddie’s waist, easily curling over his ass and pulling him close, thumb pressing over the tight pucker of his hole, tracing it again and again until Eddie gradually loosens under the ministrations.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps into his mouth, his hips jerking in Richie’s hold, pushing back against the pressure automatically, “ _Richie_ , shit, oh my god.”

“Yeah?” Richie says, trying not to laugh as Eddie tips his head up and brushes a kiss against the corner of his mouth, doe eyed and pink-cheeked, “does it feel good, baby?”

Eddie bites his lip, eyelashes fluttering when he looks up at Richie and nods, “fuck, it feels so good Richie, it’s so good,” he whimpers helplessly, grinding his hips forward into the warmth of Richie’s palm.

“Eds,” Richie murmurs, and presses more dizzying kisses to his mouth between the words, barely getting them out because Eddie keeps chasing his mouth and nipping at his lower lip, pressing kisses to the unshaven sharp line of his jaw so fucking temptingly, “shit, you look so fucking good, you’re so good for me, it drives me crazy—”

Eddie moans helplessly, clinging to Richie’s shoulders tight, and the tip of Richie’s thumb pushes past the tight ring of muscle into him the same second Richie squeezes his dick through his shorts unthinkingly, and Eddie cries, “ _Richie, Richie, Richie, please,”_ and cums, shaking against the solid warmth of Richie’s body.

Richie hastily slides a hand into the elastic of his waistband, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s dick to jerk him off through it, and Eddie shudders so hard he thinks his legs will give out for a moment, hips jerking to fuck up into Richie’s fist as he drags it down Eddie’s cock dry, and it sends aftershocks of white-hot pleasure rocking through his body like earthquakes and fault lines, making him tremble with the intensity.

Eddie moans, stuttered and punched out with each stroke of Richie’s hand on his oversensitive cock, seeing fucking _stars_ , all floaty and white when he squeezes his eyes shut, and Richie talks him through it like he often does, murmuring about what a good boy Eddie is for him, how fucking pretty he looks when he cums, all shivery and needy.

“Fuuuuuuck, Eddie,” Richie says then, all drawn out and lazily, fingers senselessly stroking over his hip, “Give a guy some warning, huh?”

Boneless and out of breath and literally feeling his own cum soaking through Beverly’s poor shorts (she’d probably spent so much time on them, he laments as he watches the stain spread), Eddie buries his face in Richie’s shoulder and says, the words muffled, “shut the fuck up.”

He doesn’t send the shorts back.


	2. Nipple Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie hums softly, his cheek against Eddie's sleep-warm shoulder, and he says dreamily, "Come back here Eds, wanna hold you," and Eddie amends that maybe he relents because he secretly likes this; to be teased and coaxed by Richie's clever tongue and mischievous hands.
> 
> The rain beats against the windows thunderously, but Eddie settles back further into the circle of Richie's arms, back to chest, and it's like the storm fades far, far away while he's ensconced in this little world that consists solely of Richie and their bed.

It's raining when Eddie wakes up, and not just any rain either—the kind that crashes against the roof, beating against the glass windows and creating sheets of water over them. The sky outside is layered with clouds, muting everything into shadows and grey.

He lays there like that for a moment, eyes squinting against the light, just watching the shadows shift on the walls from the falling rain, and then realizes that he’s alone in the bed.

It’s an easy thing to outstretch his fingers to the other side of the bed, to the rumpled, still-warm spot on the sheets that he finds empty.

His eyes open fully then, and he turns, automatically seeking out Richie.

Richie’s doing what he usually does when his brain’s working too fast for him to sleep; working on a routine in a beautiful leather-bound journal Bill had given him on his birthday last year solely for this purpose. The armchair in the corner of their room is usually the sunniest spot, perfect for Eddie to curl up with Bill’s newest book on idle afternoons. Richie’s long legs are folded up now, one under him and the other bent at the knee, the journal resting there. Eddie watches him put the pen to his mouth as he looks thoughtfully down at the page, the clicking end against the swell of his lower lip.

Richie look up then, feeling the weight of Eddie’s dark eyes on him, and his mouth crooks into a small smile. “Stop staring, weirdo,” he says, scribbling something down.

It’s unnerving, Richie likes to say, when Eddie stares silently with his big-ass eyes, as if waiting for something. Makes him cold sweat.

Eddie kind of likes it.

So he keeps staring, unblinking, until Richie grumbles something about him being a creep and drops the journal. It takes him only three long strides to loom over Eddie by the bed, and Eddie looks up, neutral.

“This is the part where you move over,” Richie tells him, lifting the corner of the duvet and letting in all the cold morning air. Eddie retreats on instinct with a groan of annoyance, shrinking away from the draft, and Richie gets into _his_ side of the bed, jostling Eddie into the empty space he'd left behind.

Richie sweeps him up into his arms, presses sleepy kisses to the nape of his neck, openmouthed and wet, and Eddie shivers when he blows cool air over the slick skin.

"Asshole," he says shakily, arching away from Richie's hips. "Just because your fucking ADHD brain won't let you sit still for two minutes doesn't mean you have to ruin it for me too."

"Sorry," Richie breathes against his shoulder, nuzzling into the warmth of his skin, not sounding apologetic in the least.

His hands are rarely cold, at least, despite their pale appearance, so when Richie's fingers creep up his ribs, tracing the grooves and ridges with care, Eddie lets him without any fuss. He relents far too often to Richie's persistence, he thinks to himself, amused. Richie's other hand sweeps lower, fingers spreading apart flat over Eddie's flat stomach, low against the waistband of his boxers, which—yes, he is 40 and wearing boxers to sleep because he can _do_ that now, he can relax and let his guard down and be a slob sometimes because Richie will love him regardless.

Richie hums softly, his cheek against Eddie's sleep-warm shoulder, and he says dreamily, "Come back here Eds, wanna hold you," and Eddie amends that maybe he relents because he secretly likes this; to be teased and coaxed by Richie's clever tongue and mischievous hands.

The rain beats against the windows thunderously, but Eddie settles back further into the circle of Richie's arms, back to chest, and it's like the storm fades far, far away while he's ensconced in this little world that consists solely of Richie and their bed.

He’s perfectly content to go back to sleep like this, but apparently Richie’s got other things on his mind, all handsy on Eddie’s bare skin. He makes an annoyed noise in his throat, but it does nothing to deter Richie’s hand from slipping up his chest, following the lean valley up until his fingers rest inches from Eddie’s collarbone.

“Eddie,” Richie whispers, soft, the words tickling the nape of his neck, and when Eddie inquires sleepily, ‘ _mhm?_ ’ the hand on his stomach pushes teasingly against the waistband of his underwear, an inquiry.

Eddie reaches down, wraps his fingers around Richie’s wrist and feels the bones there, delicate and sharp. He’s like that—a very puzzling balance of lanky fragile bones in his ankles and wrists, and hard muscle in his biceps and soft fat clinging to his thighs and soft belly, an amalgamation of things that coexist to make up the wonderous thing that is Richie Tozier.

He pushes the hand lower, into his boxers.

Richie makes a content noise, his long fingers seeking out Eddie’s dick, soft and nestled between his hips, and curls his palm over it.

Eddie resists the urge to laugh. "What?" he asks, amusement making his voice breathy as he strokes his way up Richie's arm from his wrist to elbow, "You're just going to hold it?"

"Maybe," Richie says, and does exactly that, cradling Eddie's dick in his hand soft. "I'll let you know, I'm a little busy right now."

Eddie wants to ask what the fuck he means by _that_ , but then Richie thumbs over his nipple with the hand he's using to idly rub tiny circles on Eddie's sternum, purposeful this time, and Eddie's breath catches.

There is absolutely no reason for Eddie to be getting hard this quickly this late in his life, but Richie's fingers are so warm around his dick, and now Eddie's laying on the side of the bed that smells faintly like Richie's cologne—when Richie rolls his nipple between two fingers, Eddie's hips twitch against his palm.

"You know, for a guy who just asked if I'm just going to hold it, you sure are being a horny little goblin right now, Eds." Richie says warmly, right at the top of his spine, and Eddie can almost imagine the self-satisfied grin on his stupid face.

There's no hope for sleep now, not when Richie's gotten him all riled up like this. Richie'd fucked him once the night before, taking nearly an hour after they’d gone to bed just to work Eddie open, fingering him open and sucking at his nipples until they’d gone swollen and pink. When he’d finally gotten around to fucking him, it had been Richie lazily pumping his cock into Eddie until he'd almost cried from oversensitivity at the slow drag of Richie's cock inside him, and it’s only when he’d sobbed against Richie’s mouth, a breathless, “ _please, please, please, let me cum Rich, please let me—”_ that Richie had pressed him flat against the bed, pushed a warm kiss against the column of Eddie’s spine and fucked into him at an angle that had Eddie crying for real, tears blurring his eyes when he’d cum untouched, dick pressed between his stomach and the sheets.

He’s still a little sore, and when Richie’s fingers brush over his nipples again, Eddie twists, an embarrassing whimper escaping before he can help it.

“ _Richie_ ,” he whines, eyes squeezing shut, and he presses his cheek to the pillow like he’s trying to smother himself in it, obscuring his face from Richie. “I’m _sensitive_ , quit being such a cock.”

“Poor baby,” Richie says, and immediately pinches his nipple hard enough that Eddie yelps in surprise, squirming against him.

If Eddie’s dick hadn’t been hard before, it definitely is now, tenting his boxers obscenely—adolescently, Eddie think with some private kind of shame that thrills him, like the horny teen he’d never gotten to be.

(“Why would you _want_ to be a horny teen?” Ben had asked once when he, Beverly, and Eddie had gone out for drinks, and Eddie hadn’t known how to reply—because he’d been so repressed during his time as an actual teen that he’d had nightmares about it, fueled not only by his oppressive home life but by the standards of the time? Because he’d been convinced that being horny would lead to a kind of depravity his mother had always made sure to point out to him with a special kind of vindictiveness? Because he had been filled with uncertainty and self-doubt over the one thing that had always been constant to him— Richie. He had let the thoughts simmer instead, still too shy to speak them into words.)

Now as astoundingly horny adult, Eddie arches into Richie’s searching fingers as he crosses the narrow width of Eddie’s chest to his other nipple, giving it the same treatment.

It’s much better to be a horny adult, Eddie relents to himself as Richie’s other hand trails up from his cock to his chest as well, cupping Eddie in his hands like—well, like a woman, frankly, though Eddie wouldn’t really know from personal experience. He can have Richie whenever he wants now, any way he wants. He can be as horny as he’d like, because Richie’s the same way, needy for it and clinging to Eddie, the hard outline of his dick pressed to the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie reaches out behind him blindly, grabbing for Richie however he can, ends up fisting his soft shirt between his finger as he begs, writhing back against his dick, trying to line their hips up correctly, “ _Richiee_ ,” so drawn out and pleading that Richie actually listens.

Richie drags Eddie closer until they’re spooning essentially, one leg thrown over Eddie’s hip, looping his arms through Eddie’s, the heels of his palms kneading circles into Eddie’s pecs that have him arching, panting harshly against the pillowcase.

“Shit,” Richie whispers, and rolls his hips against Eddie’s ass, grinding his dick against Eddie so fucking filthy, and Eddie moans, a loud broken sound, “wanna get inside you, baby, wanna work you open on my cock so fucking bad.”

He’s still stretched from the night before, he remembers, and it’s with no small bit of delight. Richie _can_ , if he wants, line the head of his dick up with Eddie’s hole and fuck him open until he cums from the silky friction of Richie’s thick cock sliding into him.

“I want it,” Eddie whines, and not giving himself time to overthink it, he reaches out for the lube they’d left on Eddie’s nightstand the night before, “Please Rich, please, want you to fuck me, shit, I wanna cum—”

Richie grabs the lube from his hands, and Eddie hears it click open more than sees. While Richie does his thing, Eddie fidgets impatiently and tries not to dry hump him through their clothes.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Richie pulls back, the warmth of his body retreating, and Eddie hears fabric shifting, first as Richie rises onto one elbow and shoves his sweatpants down his thighs enough to free his cock and fists it, spreading cold lube along silky hot skin, fucking up into his fist a couple times, and then when he drags Eddie’s boxers down and spreads Eddie open with his thumb, pressing the blunt head of his dick against the tight pucker of Eddie’s ass.

Eddie’s wet inside from the night before, but Richie presses a finger inside him just in case anyways, and he says with mild surprise, “holy shit, that’s a wet pussy,” as he withdraws his finger.

“I changed my mind,” Eddie deadpans, even as he pushes back against the head of his cock, pressure against the tight ring of muscle Richie had fucked loose only half a day ago, “that was so gross I think it killed my libido.”

Richie’s voice is breathless with laugher as he nudges his way into Eddie, one hand on his hip, the other sneaking under his ribs to press to his chest again, over his hard nipples again and again, following the circle of his areoles with the pad of his thumb, and Eddie moans, hitching and shaky as Richie’s dick punches the air from his lungs, sends lightning zipping down his spine at the ache of the brutal stretch.

“What?” Richie asks, “You don’t like when I open up your little pussy with my cock? You don’t like having your tits played with?” He takes Eddie’s nipple between his finger and thumb again, rolling it, and Eddie practically mewls, the muscles in his stomach bunching together when he hunches forward against Richie’s hand, blush high on his cheeks.

“Richie, I swear to god,” he says, but the words are tremulous and unfocused. Richie sinks marginally deeper into the velvety tight warmth of his body and Eddie exhales sharp, his hands beginning to shake just a little, one hand fisted in the sheets and the other on his dick, licking over his palm to make the slide easier.

The head of his cock is slick with precum, and he sweeps his thumb over the slit, coaxing more out until the hot persistent length of his dick glides through his fist as smooth as silk. His cock aches, throbbing and a little raw from the night before, but Eddie kind of likes the soreness, likes it even more when Richie’s hand caresses its way up his side and finds his other sensitive nipple again, scraping his nails lightly over it, and it’s fucking unbearable.

He gasps, a sharp surprised thing, and ends up babbling, “Please Richie, fuck me, I wanna cum, please make me cum, I want it,” between the punched out moans every time Richie rolls their hips together, fucking him at a steady rhythm that makes his mind hazy with pleasure.

His stomach aches, his balls ache, and between Richie’s relentless fingers, his nipples ache something fierce, overstimulated and reddened, and he wonders hopelessly for one moment if Richie will give him any respite if he asks nicely, if he makes his eyes wide and begs for Richie’s mouth on him instead.

But there’s a part of him that enjoys the rawness too, because of the way it sharpens the pleasure of Richie’s dick fucking into him to an intensity that drives him crazy, his body seizing down against Richie uncontrollably, sucking him deeper, and Richie grunts, “Shit, Eds, hang on, you’re so fucking tight, oh my god,” and hooks a hand under his knee, and Eddie’s so pliant that it’s easy to lift it up, opening up his narrow hips.

It’s so much better, Eddie thinks, dazed, as Richie fucks into him like this, his own hand speeding up on his cock. He feels so sloppy and open as Richie uses his new leverage to fuck him deeper, pulling him back to meet every hard thrust in a quick rhythm, Eddie’s ass slapping his hips obscenely. “Wanna cum,” Eddie sobs, “Richie, I wanna—I wanna cum, please,” and Richie says, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive vulnerable area right below his ear and the hinge of his jaw, “s’okay Eds, you can cum, you can cum for me.”

Richie holds him still then, and grinds deep into him, their bodies rocking together, and like he’s been trained for it, Eddie shouts, sees stars and cums, sobbing his relief in the form of Richie’s name again and again until Richie lets his knee slip from his grip and places his hand flat on Eddie’s chest, the rapid thrum of his pulse against Richie’s broad palm as Eddie fists his cock, milking himself through his orgasm, cum spurting through his fist and spilling onto the sheets.

Eddie’s whole body clenches tight with every aftershock of pleasure, and Richie’s dick inside him is too much all of a sudden, too raw now that he’s cum, but he’s a little too—a little too overstimulated, the part of his brain that isn’t jelly fills in helpfully, to tell Richie.

Richie litters kisses all over his shoulder as he pulls out, careful as the head of his dick catches on Eddie’s rim, and Eddie tries not to whimper at the loss, his ass clenching around nothing, gaping open in the absence of Richie’s thick cock.

“Open your mouth,” Richie says, sitting up and climbing atop of Eddie’s body, pushing him onto his back and straddling his abdomen. Eddie’s lips part automatically, his little pink tongue glistening, and Richie cums from that sight alone, jerking himself off with a tight fist, the red tip of his cock pressed against the trembling swell of Eddie’s lower lip.

Eddie’s face scrunches up a little when Richie cums, the unexpected heat and bitterness of Richie’s load spilling across his mouth and cheek, but he swallows it anyways, meeting Richie’s grey eyes above him, as dark as the storm outside.

Richie’s still breathing roughly, the rise and fall of his chest uneven, his cheeks pink, and Eddie coos, “pretty,” reaching a hand up to press it to his cheek, feeling the heat of his skin and the gentle scrape of stubble. Richie blinks, and his long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and Eddie is overwhelmed suddenly, with how much he loves Richie like this, loose-limbed and soft.

Richie stoops down to kiss him when he gets his breath back, licks into Eddie’s mouth and tastes himself, bitter on his tongue, and Eddie groans against his lips afterwards, “gross,” his heart swelling to a crescendo of tenderness.

“Love you,” Richie says softly then, cradled in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie’s throat is tight, his vision suddenly blurry when he blinks, and for a long, sweet, perfect morning, everything is good.


	3. Bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s flustered face has been Richie’s ideal epitome of erotica since he was 12 years old, and as Eddie flushes pink and averts his gaze quickly, soft puppy eyes falling to Richie’s shoulder instead, Richie realizes that still hasn’t changed.
> 
> “I just think that… theoretically if I were to be tied up, I don’t think that I would hate it,” Eddie says carefully, face reddening steadily with each word.

Strangely enough, it starts with Stanley.

Stan’s in town for a business thing—Richie usually tunes out when he gets on the phone and starts blathering about supply chains and balance sheets, but he’d only asked this time if he’d be able to stay at Richie’s instead of getting a hotel, so Richie and Eddie gladly accept him.

The last day of his visit, he asks if he can borrow one of Richie’s cars for the evening, and it’s only because Richie has a meeting at the agency and feels guilty about not being able to spend time with him that he tosses the keys Stan’s way.

“Take Eddie,” he adds before he gets in the Uber XL the agency sends solely for him. It’s a fair deal, but Stanley makes a face.

“Sometimes people have private matters, Rich.” Stan says, his face oddly pink, and now he’s gotten Richie’s attention.

“Stanley,” Richie points out, “you’ve seen all our dicks like, a million times. What could be so private that you can’t show Eddie?”

Oh, Stan’s face is definitely pink. Richie makes a mental note to as Eddie about it later when Stan won’t hear and attempt to strangle him to death, and then heads to the office, mentally steeling himself for the tedious hours to come.

-

He doesn’t even need to ask Eddie, apparently, because as soon as they get home, Eddie holds up a bag and goes, “Rich, look, we went to the fucking _sex_ store, look what Stan bought!”

Richie looks. There’s an inconspicuous black bag in Eddie’s grip, and inside it sits a tube of warming lube, a swath of red rope, and a sleek long vibrator with the fucking Hollywood sign printed on it.

“Stan’s trouser snake isn’t enough for Patty, huh?” Richie asks, and Stan gives him the most impressive Disappointed Dad Look Richie’s ever seen.

“It’s an inside joke,” Stan explains, but he sounds a little strangled so Richie takes that as a win.

Stan goes back to Georgia that night, and Richie doesn’t think much on it, and it’s not until Eddie comments idly on the car ride home from LAX, “didn’t peg Patty for a such a freak in bed.”

Richie stares unto the sea of L.A traffic before them, hundreds of headlights against the dark of the night. “Dude,” he says, because the image comes to him before he can stop it, “Can you imagine _Stan_ having kinky sex? That’s so weird. I bet Patty would ask him to tie her up and use the vibrator on her and he’d just start crying.”

Thinking about Stan having sex is somehow akin to thinking about his parents having sex—it must happen, surely, but it’s a little bit of a horrific thought, somehow.

“Oh,” Eddie says, and his ears go pink. Richie’s always noticing stupid shit like that about Eddie—the way his ears go pink when he’s embarrassed, the little freckles on the tip of his nose that only appear when he’s golden from the sun, small inconsequential stuff that he likes to keep just for himself. Richie’s a master of reading Eddie, and the way he turns to the window purposefully away from Richie is so fucking obvious.

“Wait,” Richie says, still processing. “Do you think it’s _hot_?”

“No!” Eddie says too quickly, “No I didn’t! I think that maybe _she_ finds it hot, and it’s valid if she does because—because everyone has preferences.”

“So, you wouldn’t be into it?”

Eddie’s flustered face has been Richie’s ideal epitome of erotica since he was 12 years old, and as Eddie flushes pink and averts his gaze quickly, soft puppy eyes falling to Richie’s shoulder instead, Richie realizes that still hasn’t changed.

“I just think that… theoretically if I were to be tied up, I don’t think that I would hate it,” Eddie says carefully, face reddening steadily with each word. “The pictures of the knots on the rope package were kind of cool. I guess.”

Richie thinks about it. And then he has to stop immediately.

Eddie is looking at him with dark, unfathomable eyes, and Richie can feel the weight of them even as he focuses on the road ahead, through their neighborhood now.

“Well?” Eddie says then, sounding a little annoyed now. It’s a tone Richie knows well.

Richie’s dabbled in kinks before. He gets called Daddy on the internet as much as the next moderately famous white guy, and he’d slept his way halfway through Hollywood in his first couple years out here, but never this specific one. He’s seen it in porn—the Japanese bondage thing that looks more complicated than it’s worth.

And then he looks at Eddie, who sounds so annoyed but looks so pleading, and thinks he’s so fucking worth it.

-

Richie gets the manual.

No really, he goes to the bookstore and everything, and spends a rather concerning amount of time in the erotica section before he finds what he’s looking for. One extremely awkward exchange with the cashier later, (“hey, aren’t you that comedian, Richie Tozier? Why are you buying a kinky self-help book?”) Richie goes home free with the book burning a hole in his pocket and orders the ropes to his house from an online sex shop.

The knots are even more complicated than he’d thought (or maybe he’s just clumsy, who knows) and Eddie laughs his ass off every time Richie comes to him tangled in rope and asks him to help get him free, but by the end of the week, Richie’s decently mastered three different knots.

Eddie asks for it out of the blue, though, because of course he does. Richie’s in the middle of fucking him silly when Eddie gasps up at him, “Wait, wait wait, lets try the rope thing, please, Rich, lets try the rope thing.”

Richie groans, “Are you serious?” His head spins a little, the overwhelming heat of Eddie’s body tight around his dick, and shit, Richie’s brain never fucking works at moments like these, but he manages to pull it together enough to carefully pull out, sliding off the condom and throwing it out when he passes it on his way to the dresser.

Once Eddie’s arms are laced behind his back with a series of intricate knots that coil like snakes, venomous red against the sun-freckled golden of his skin, Richie sits back to examine his handiwork; Eddie looks so fucking pretty like this, the lean muscles in his biceps straining against the soft corded ropes, his dark eyes glazed and cheeks flushed with desire, and Richie almost can’t believe that _he_ did this—his long fingers are the ones that had clumsily struggled through each knot for the first time, again and again until he’s confident that it will hold and look so neat that even Eddie can’t complain.

He’s spent time on this, because it’s what Eddie deserves; to be taken care of, to know that Richie’s going to put in the effort for him.

No one deserves it like Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie thinks when he looks down at him, over the flush of his cheeks and the haziness in his soft brown eyes, all fucked out and pliant under him.

“You good, Eds?” he asks after carefully helping Eddie turn over onto his back, just to make sure. The cautionary tales from the book flash through his mind involuntarily, and oh god, should he be doing color checks? Should he make sure, for the fourth time at least, that Eddie’s completely certain that he knows the safe word?

Eddie blinks. “Richie, if you don’t get back inside me right now, I’m going to strangle you with my ankles.”

He presses his foot to Richie’s neck for good measure, the jutting bones of his ankles pressing against Richie’s jugular, and pretends to choke him out, and Richie laughs so hard that he actually loosens up, whatever anxiety that had been making his throat tight retreating momentarily so he can gather one of Eddie’s ankles and bend his leg into his chest.

He ties Eddie’s ankle to the crook of his elbow, because his wrist is behind his back and Richie is _new_ at this, god dammit, and finally sits back, finished. The rows of knots on Eddie’s arms are invisible behind his back, but the red ropes snaking up his chest and shoulders are very much not, crossing right under his ribcage and above his hips where his waist is the narrowest, a complicated thing that Richie can’t even understand how he’d done, now that he really looks at it.

Eddie breathes unsteadily, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Richie drags a hand over the intricate knots, the corded rope soft against his fingers—he’s definitely glad he splurged on the most expensive and supple shibari rope.

His dick’s gone soft while he’d been focused on the knotwork, but as Eddie goes, “Fuck, Rich, I can’t move my arms at _all_ , oh my god,” he thinks that he won’t have a problem getting back there.

He trails his hand over the ropes, following the corded red trail as it wraps around Eddie’s soft, vulnerable neck, and presses his hand there. Eddie’s pulse thrums frantically under his palm, and his eyes are hazy with arousal, pupils blown, dark eyebrows drawn close.

“Sicko,” Eddie says, as Richie’s dick swells just feeling Eddie’s pulse, but it’s breathless, his cheeks flushed dark, lips slick and soft.

Richie lines his dick up with Eddie’s ass, tells him, “don’t call me sicko when you’re this hard from being tied up, you little freak,” and when Eddie starts to give an indignant reply, pulls him down onto his dick.

It makes Eddie shout instead, unprepared for the sudden friction, his back arching up off the bed, and Richie watches him strain against the red ropes and fucks into him purposefully hard, Eddie’s body so fucking soft around his dick, giving so easily for him.

He’s not going to last, there’s no way when Eddie looks so good, feels so fucking good, moving back against Richie as much as he can while he’s incapacitated, so he takes a hold of Eddie’s dick and starts jerking him off dry. Eddie whimpers, “you asshole, oh you fucking asshole,” at the dry friction, writhing against him, and when Richie thumbs over the head of his dick, the precum there slick when he smears it with his thumb, Eddie cums hard, shuddering and shouting profanity about Richie, and Richie follows soon after when Eddie clamps down on him, oversensitive and tight.

“I hate you,” Eddie says later, after complaining about how raw his dick feels from being jerked off dry. It doesn’t sound like hate, not when he’s spooning Richie from behind, idly stroking his soft stomach and pressing kisses to Richie’s broad back.

In fact, it sounds like exactly the opposite.


	4. Watersports

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gives him a grin that simultaneously makes Eddie want to slap the shit out of him and kiss him silly, and settles on the latter when Richie bends down and seals their mouths together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh warning they definitely do not discuss the kink properly  
> (arianna ur welcome 4 the bed piss)

Eddie’s an ‘eight cups of water’ a day kind of guy.

Richie’s more of a ‘three cups of coffee and a shot of rum mixed in with his morning smoothie’ human manifestation of a natural disaster.

On any other day, Eddie’s proud of how hydrated he stays, but today, this will be the cause of his downfall.

He ambushes Richie after sometime after noon, when he reaches a lull in his work and breaks for lunch, creeping from the spare bedroom he uses as a home office to where Richie is pacing in the sitting area of the master bedroom.

Richie works better in random places in their home, sometimes sitting on the kitchen island, often barging into Eddie’s office to sprawl across the armchair by the window and try jokes out on him.

He shoulder-checks Richie hard enough that he falls back against the chair, and crawls on after him, trapping Richie with his knees on either side of his hips.

“Bully,” Richie accuses, his fingers already climbing down Eddie’s sides to settle on his hips, “why don’t you go pick on someone your own size?”

Eddie replies by biting at his mouth, leaving searing kisses down the line of his jaw until Richie’s panting unsteadily beneath him, and Eddie grinds down against his lap, pressing against the hard outline of his dick through their clothes, needy and so fucking drained from the mindless two hour meeting he’d had earlier that morning.

Richie grabs a hold of his hips, hoists him up and tosses him easily onto the bed, and that only gets Eddie hotter, as he bounces backwards with a surprised yelp, and Richie’s on him in the next second, hiking his ankles up over his shoulders and pulling Eddie’s pants off. It becomes a scramble to get each other’s clothes off, Eddie’s eager hands on Richie’s shirt, then the soft, warm skin under it, and Richie pushes him back down, wrenches his legs apart and unceremoniously takes him into his mouth.

Eddie gasps, arches against the heat of Richie’s mouth, sloppy and impatient, taking too much of him at once, and Richie pulls off breathing heavy, jerks Eddie’s spit-slick cock in his fist before licking over the head, tracing the veins with the tip of his tongue.

Richie takes his cock into his hand again and laps at the head, Eddie moans brokenly, biting the inside of his cheek so hard that it hurts. Richie’s tongue sweeps downwards, up and down his cock, and Eddie feels his hole clench, desperate and needy.

He reaches out blindly, feels around until his hand closes around the lube, and he tosses it to Richie. A second later, Richie presses two slick fingers into him at once, and Eddie wants to laugh because he’s being fucked so often these days, he’s starting to consider keeping himself prepped 24/7, just walking around the house with the plug on all the time.

It’s ridiculous and indulgent and he’d never associated this much depravity with himself, but as Richie fucks him on two slender fingers, not even giving him time to adjust, and Eddie just writhes and begs for more, he finds himself not caring.

Richie stretches him open until he’s all loose and sloppy around his fingers, the heel of Richie’s hand slapping his ass in the lewdest noise Eddie’s heard in his life, and his dick drools against his stomach, throbbing and dangerously close to cumming.

When Richie’s fingers slide out of him, Eddie whines, and Richie makes an annoyed noise, slaps the curve of his hip hard, and goes, “hold on for _one second_ , Eds, quit being such a needy little bitch.”

Eddie kicks out automatically and tries his best to clip Richie in the side, but Richie catches his ankle, rubbing his thumb over the jutting bone with a slow kind of tenderness in his eyes that makes Eddie want to look away in embarrassment.

As Richie pushes in, inch by inch, Eddie sobs for it, shuddering as he’s opened up on Richie’s thick cock, filling so deeply that it makes his tailbone ache dully. He cums, helpless, gasping into Richie’s mouth and clutching him close, before Richie’s even gotten to start fucking him.

Richie laughs in breathless wonder, eyes wide as Eddie trembles with aftershocks, stroking his hair off his damp forehead and pressing a brief kiss to his temple before he hikes Eddie’s legs up over his shoulders again and starts fucking into him for real.

His dick is tender from his first orgasm, half-soft against his stomach, jerking with every hard thrust of Richie’s hips against his own, and the cum there smears between them, filthy and slick.

Eddie has never been so oversensitive in his life, moaning helplessly every time Richie’s thick cock spreads him open, the blunt head of it slamming something inside him that has him arching, tears flooding to his eyes with a twinge of—of something he’s never experienced before, somewhere between a sweet ache and an unbearable full pressure.

“Richie,” he whimpers, but his voice breaks over it, so he tries louder, “Richie, I think I need to—I need to pee, hang on—”

Richie has the audacity to go _faster_ , and Eddie yelps, “fuck!” and clings onto him, fingers scrabbling against Richie’s broad back, as the pressure in his abdomen builds in intensity every time Richie grinds forward into him, slow and filthy.

Through the haze in his head, Richie’s voice cuts in, “Can you just trust me for a second, Eds?”

Eddie blinks up at him, their eyes locking for a moment—Eddie loves being understood, he loves that Richie can convey exactly what he’s thinking just by _looking_ at him, that they’ve always been able to understand each other in such an easy and natural way—and he turns his head bashfully to the side and mutters, “You better fucking clean this bed later, Rich, or I will never step foot in this room again, I swear to god.”

This is new territory. This sends something dark and thrilling rushing through Eddie’s veins like lava, as he realizes with a thrum of excitement that this is something _dirty_ , something that the very idea of makes his cheeks redden in shame.

Richie gives him a grin that simultaneously makes Eddie want to slap the shit out of him and kiss him silly, and settles on the latter when Richie bends down and seals their mouths together.

Richie pins his hips to the mattress hard, his hands so firm against Eddie that he’s half sure there will be bruises bracketing his waist tomorrow, fucks deep into him in a series of hard thrusts that make Eddie whimper brokenly, one hand pressed low on his stomach where Richie’s dick rams into him, insanely deep, pressing against his bladder just a little too hard.

“Shit, Richie,” he moans, and it’s shaky from something that’s not quite anxiety, “I don’t- I don’t know if I can—”

“You can,” Richie interrupts, and his voice is firm, leaving no room for argument, “and you will.”

Eddie takes a deep breath. Richie’s hand slides over his on his stomach, lacing their fingers together, and carefully, Richie presses down marginally more and more. “Fuck,” Eddie cries, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“C’mon baby,” Richie croons, “be a good boy and piss yourself for me,” and there is not enough shame in the world to match what Eddie feels in that moment.

And then he pisses.

It’s weird. It feels good(?) and strange at the same time, akin to an orgasm and yet completely different, relief spreading mercifully through his stomach as the warmth of his pee (his _pee_! He thinks wildly, staring at it glistening across his skin) spreads across belly, his thighs, rolls off and soaks into the mattress around him. He can’t help the keening moan that spills from his mouth, the way his hips grind down instinctively against Richie’s fat cock, and Richie cums with a series of short hard thrusts that make Eddie moan with the force of them, “ _ah, ah, ah_ ,” milking his cock with Eddie’s oversensitive, tight asshole.

“Shit,” Richie says unsteadily, his grey eyes wide in disbelief, staring down at the dark stained material around them, “Oh my god, Eddie.”

Eddie’s cheeks are so fucking red it looks almost painful, and when Richie pulls out, he cringes immediately away from the wet spot and goes, “Oh my god, I need a shower right now, holy shit, oh my god—” and leaps for the bathroom without another backward glance.

Richie glances towards the wet spot on their thousand thread count bedsheets, bought painstakingly by Eddie, and thinks of how far away the kitchen is downstairs, how far he’s going to have to walk to get the baking soda, and then thinks of Eddie in the shower right now, his cheeks burning with embarrassment, heart thudding too hard in his chest.

Eddie’s going to kill him later. Later, though. And that’s what matters, Richie decides, heading for the shower.


	5. Rimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie’s cheeks go a shade darker, his eyes avoidant. Eddie tries to soften his voice, making it a degree less threatening. “Is it so bad that I wanna take care of you sometimes?”
> 
> He tilts Richie’s face to look at him, and Richie finally meets his gaze with wet, shining eyes. He clears his throat roughly and gives a self-deprecating laugh. “No, Eds,” he says softly, “it’s not.”

Eddie is oddly proud of his ability to suck cock. Specifically, Richie’s cock, if he’s being honest, because there are not many people who he would be willing to put in this much effort for.

Richie’s cock is ridiculously thick between his lips, stretching his mouth taut around it, and sometimes Eddie catches himself fantasizing about it at the most inopportune moments, sitting in online meetings and nursing a semi while thinking about sinking onto his knees and sucking Richie’s dick.

Richie’s less neat when he uses his mouth on Eddie, sloppily licking over his cock and down the line of his ass, working him open first with his tongue and then his fingers. He does that fairly often—eats Eddie out, that is.

He’s curious about that. Richie does it often enough to him, but he’s yet to have a chance. He’d told as much to Richie tonight, when they’d slipped into bed and reached automatically for each other, holding each other close in the dark of their room.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, so he can’t see Richie’s expression when he says, voice raspy, “you can try, if you want.”

Eddie wants.

He throws a leg over Richie’s hips and straddles him, their mouths meeting messily in the darkness, hot, searching hands tugging at Richie’s soft shirt and underwear, at Eddie’s sweater. and Eddie slips between Richie’s thighs, holding himself up on one elbow by Richie’s cheek, kissing him lingeringly.

Then, naked, he presses his mouth to Richie’s collarbone, and licks a wet stripe over the hard line of his clavicle, following it to the center of his chest. He kisses a path down the center of Richie’s abdomen, over the softness of his stomach and hips, until he reaches the top of Richie’s thighs.

He starts out by licking his hand and curling his fingers around the base of Richie’s cock, jerking him off slow until he’s so hard that Eddie almost thinks if he presses his thumb to the fat vein on the underside, he can feel the distance throb of Richie’s heart.

He mouths up the side of Richie’s dick, kitten-licking in that way that is so unsatisfying but nice to look at, and Richie’s pupils are blown with desire when he blinks down at Eddie doing his best to take him into his mouth, finally stretching his lips wide around his cock and bobbing his head down.

He feels the blunt, thick head of Richie’s dick hit the back of his throat, and tries to relax, his throat fluttering tight around the intrusion, and Richie curses, “ _Eds_ , you feel so fucking good, baby,” and cards a hand through his hair. He lets Richie guide him down further on his cock, pressing his head down until his entire world is just Richie’s warm hand on the back of his head, the soft scrape of Richie’s pubic hair on his upper lip when he runs out of cock to swallow, the salty musk of Richie’s dick in his throat.

When Richie lets up, Eddie pulls off coughing, his face flushed and lips wet with drool.

Eddie rubs his jaw carefully, stretching his mouth open to feel how much the hinges ache, and wonders if it will be sore the next day. He likes it more than he’d care to admit, when there is physical evidence of what they’ve done. Sometimes when Richie fucks him from behind, gripping his hips tight, it leaves small dusky bruises that Eddie presses his fingers to in the shower for the next couple days until they begin to fade.

Tonight’s about Richie, though, so Eddie relaxes his jaw as much as he can and lets Richie’s dick slide down the slick passage of his throat until it sets off his gag reflex and his throat convulses around it in a way that makes Richie curse and twist under him.

He only pulls off when he has to, sticky threads of saliva and precum smeared over his chin, and Richie watches him gag under heavy lidded eyes. He can’t imagine it’s a very nice sight, but he blinks his tear-blurred eyes and wipes them away, sits up and sniffles. “Turn over,” he says, part of him reveling in surprise at how rough his voice sounds.

Richie looks up at him with wide eyes like a deer caught in the headlights. “Really?” he asks dubiously. “Can’t we keep uhh… doing it like this?”

Eddie arches a brow at him questioningly but shrugs, goes, “fine,” and pushes Richie back down by the shoulders. He presses his mouth to Richie’s soft stomach, kisses a searing trail down his hip, all the way to where his dick curves towards his belly, thick and flushed with arousal, precum beading shiny at the tip.

He tongues over the head of Richie’s cock, jerks him off with a filthy mixture of spit and precum, and Richie’s hips arch into his tight fist. Eddie drags his fingers to Richie’s inner thighs, watching his face for any sign of hesitation. Richie bites his lip, leaving it pink and swollen, but doesn’t say anything when Eddie slides two fingers behind his balls, presses them to his taint and slides his mouth down Richie’s cock. Eddie’s throat flutters around his cock when his hips angle upwards helplessly, pushing his cock deeper into the slick heat of Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie moans at the unexpected intrusion, taking him down as far as he can without gagging.

Richie keens in surprise when Eddie presses with the pads of his fingers, and Eddie’s eyes shut then, too focused on what he’s doing to watch Richie react with the intensity he has been thus far. He curls his fingers around Richie’s cock and drags his fist down the length, slow, sleek heat enveloping Richie’s dick.

Eddie uses the tip of his tongue to trace circles over the tight pucker of Richie’s ass, and Richie finally arches away gasping, “oh my god, wait, oh my god—” his voice tremulous in a way it rarely is.

He plants a hand on Richie’s thigh and rises up to sit between Richie’s legs, raising one dark eyebrow at him. “What?”

Richie blinks. His eyes are glazed, that deep grey that sometimes looks to Eddie like a thunderous, cloudy sky, and other times a nearly-blue steel when the light hits his face just right. “I don’t know,” he says after a moment, flushing soft pink, “I guess I was just surprised.”

Eddie’s brow furrow together. “Rich, you do this to me like, at least once a week.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” Richie falters after a second, giving him a helpless look. “I don’t know, Eds, you’re like, all hot and twinky and sexy.”

Eddie loves Richie to death, he swears, but sometimes the urge to choke him out until he passes out is so strong. “What do you mean?” he asks, and balances his chin in his palm, looking up at Richie with what he hopes is an understanding expression.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Richie says again, and blinks up at the ceiling blankly. “Why do you even want to do this?”

Eddie realizes suddenly that Richie’s not just playing with him. He crawls up the length of Richie’s body with some difficulty, curls himself into the crook of Richie’s arm until he has no choice but to make space for Eddie to huddle into his side. He curls his fingers around Richie’s face, cradling his cheek in his palm. “Richie. First of all, if you ever call me a twink again, I will strangle you,” he says fondly, and Richie smiles like a dope, which serves to marginally calm him, so he continues on, holding up another finger, “Second of all, because I’m in _love_ with you _,_ asshole.”

Richie’s cheeks go a shade darker, his eyes avoidant. Eddie tries to soften his voice, making it a degree less threatening. “Is it so bad that I wanna take care of you sometimes?”

He tilts Richie’s face to look at him, and Richie finally meets his gaze with wet, shining eyes. He clears his throat roughly and gives a self-deprecating laugh. “No, Eds,” he says softly, “it’s not.”

Eddie props himself up on an elbow. He kisses Richie, long and deep and lingering, tongue sweeping warm into his mouth, nipping at his soft pink lips, until Richie sighs softly into his mouth and starts to relax under him.

“Turn around for me,” Eddie whispers, and this time actually Richie does, turning over onto his stomach.

“Be gentle with me,” he jokes, but the way his smile wavers makes Eddie think he’s more serious than he’s willing to let on.

It’s so much easier like this that Eddie thinks absently that no wonder Richie always pushes him onto his hands and knees when he’s the one rimming Eddie. He nudges Richie’s legs apart, slides between them and spreads Richie open with his thumbs, watches as Richie’s body clenches tight with tension between his fingers.

“Shit,” he whispers, feeling a little breathless, and ducks down, licks a broad stripe over the cleft of Richie’s ass. Richie makes a soft choked off noise, his back bowed with tension, and using the heel of his palm, Eddie massages circles into the bunched muscles, and licks sloppily into him, nowhere near as finessed as Richie, but enthusiastic nonetheless. From the way Richie whimpers and scrabbles to twist his hands in the sheets under him, Eddie’s doing just fine.

Eddie points his tongue, fucks into Richie’s hole with it, and Richie moans brokenly, “ _Shit,_ Eddie,” and reaches back for him blindly. Eddie tangles their fingers together on instinct and holds onto Richie’s hand as he eats him out, feeling the way Richie’s long fingers tremble between his own, squeezing Eddie tight in his grasp when Eddie pouts his lips and presses a sloppy openmouthed kiss to his perineum.

“You’re so good,” Eddie says quietly, and creeps a hand up into Richie’s curls, tightening his fist. To his delight, it rips a moan from Richie’s mouth, his head tilting back in Eddie’s grip, baring his throat. “You wanna touch yourself? Make yourself cum, Rich, you deserve it.”

Richie wrenches his hand free of Eddie’s and gets a hand around his dick, jerks himself off with the slick mixture of Eddie’s spit and his own precum, fucks into the circle of his fist a couple times as Eddie flattens his tongue and licks over his twitching hole with broad sweeps, and Richie cums, cursing and gasping, his frame tensing, hips grinding back like he wants to ride Eddie’s face, and Eddie thinks about it—Richie gasping with his pretty pink mouth, rolling his hips against Eddie’s mouth, desperate for it, and he reaches around, knocks Richie’s hand away from his dick and jerks him off himself, stroking him through his orgasm until Richie’s thighs tremble finely.

It’s only when Richie slaps his hand away and whines about oversensitivity that Eddie sits up, takes in the sight of Richie’s back, the muscles drawn and clenched, the quaking of his thighs, the glistening slickness of his hole, shimmering from Eddie’s tongue.

He wonders if Richie will be too oversensitive in 20 minutes to let him grab the lube and work three fingers into him, loosen him up and replace his fingers with his dick.

From the way Richie glances up at him through his lashes, not yet sated, and pulls him down to kiss him again, Eddie’s willing to bet he won’t be.


	6. Dirty Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My little housewife,” Richie coos, and kisses the corner of Eddie’s scowling mouth. “We should definitely get you an apron.”
> 
> “If you even try it, I’ll slip rat poison into your wine,” Eddie says very seriously, but lets Richie kiss him fully, tilting their mouths together in long, heady kisses that make him grip the edge of the counter as Richie’s tongue sweeps into his mouth, persistent and demanding.

With how deceptively sweet he can be at times, Eddie almost forgets sometimes how much of a fucking menace Richie is at his core.

Eddie gets groceries—because Eddie is an a _dult_ , and half the time Richie forgets to feed himself if Eddie isn’t making dinner, so they’ve come to the consensus that Eddie should do all the shopping.

Richie strolls into the kitchen while Eddie puts the groceries away, perches on the counter, crossing his long legs under him.

“Thanks for the help,” Eddie says, and rolls his eyes when Richie smiles pleasantly his way, leaning back on his arms, content not to lift a single finger in aid as Eddie stands on his tiptoes and tucks a box on top of the fridge.

When Eddie comes to stand in front of him, nudging his shoulder aside to reach a cabinet, Richie unfolds his legs and traps Eddie between them, slinging his arms over Eddie’s shoulders.

“My little housewife,” Richie coos, and kisses the corner of Eddie’s scowling mouth. “We should definitely get you an apron.”

“If you even try it, I’ll slip rat poison into your wine,” Eddie says very seriously, but lets Richie kiss him fully, tilting their mouths together in long, heady kisses that make him grip the edge of the counter as Richie’s tongue sweeps into his mouth, persistent and demanding.

Richie pulls away to laugh, to bury his face in Eddie’s neck and pull him closer by wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist.

They kiss again, this time with more fervor, Richie’s hands slip down to press to his hips, and Eddie arches into him, pressing flat against his broad chest, their bodies flush, warm and tingling with sensation. A spark of excitement shoots up Eddie’s spine, and he whines against Richie’s mouth, a pitchy noise that makes Richie’s lip twitch with the urge to smile.

“You’re so sensitive, Eds,” Richie croons, pressing a kiss to his swollen mouth, his hands sneaking up the hem of Eddie’s sweater to his warm, flat stomach. He thumbs over Eddie’s nipples, and Eddie shudders against him, glaring.

“You’re an asshole,” he tells Richie, one of his favorite phrases and one he uses often. Richie smiles wide, gently pushing him away by the shoulders to slip off the counter, kisses him slow and sweet as they fold together towards the dark wood floor.

Eddie remembers the first month after they’d moved in, they’d had sex on nearly every single surface of the house, from the guest bedrooms to the bay window overlooking the backyard. Still, he laughs as Richie spreads out his jacket on the floor for Eddie to lay on, asks, “What are you going to use as lube, genius?”

Richie looks around quickly, examining their surroundings before his face lights up and he straightens to grab whatever he’s found. Eddie quickly undresses, leaves his clothes folded neatly beside Richie’s jacket. He returns with the olive oil, and rolls his eyes when Eddie glances nervously between him and the bottle.

“Are you sure that’s sanitary?” Eddie starts to ask, but Richie groans, “ _yes,_ baby, I’m positive,” and pushes him flat.

Then he begins to trail kisses all over Eddie’s neck, and lower still to his collarbone. Eddie’s breath goes uneven, and as Richie’s mouth lowers to his chest, he glances up through his dark lashes, stormy eyes intense on Eddie’s face. He says, “what about if I do this?” and licks over one of his nipples, a hard lick that makes Eddie’s voice break over a moan.

“Shit,” Eddie gasps, and arches away from the feeling instinctively, but Richie takes his wrists and pins them above his head on the floor, his grip on them just right enough to make Eddie’s wrist ache when he twists too much. “Shit, Rich, please,” he tries, because Richie’s an asshole who likes to hear him beg.

He pushes Eddie onto his hands and knees, right there on the dark wooden slats of the kitchen floor, and presses two fingers against the heat of his body, with only olive oil to slick his way. It’s odd, definitely thinner than the actual water-based lube they have upstairs, but it’s slick enough that Eddie presses back against Richie’s fingers, feeling him slide in down to the knuckles.

Richie doesn’t waste too much time opening him up, fucking him on his fingers until Eddie’s dick leaks, heavy between his legs, and as Eddie’s back bows, his muscles tense, Richie pulls away and replaces his fingers with his dick.

Richie grips his hips tight, long fingers spreading over Eddie’s stomach, and pulls him back slow, pushing his dick past the tight resistance of Eddie’s entrance, and Eddie feels the breath knocked out of him in one sharp gasp at the feeling of being stretched open, a tremor rocking through him.

“So fuckin’ tight, Eds,” Richie says, “Shit, you’re sucking my cock in, so _slutty_ , who’d have thought?”

Eddie’s cheeks flush red. “Richie!” he cries indignantly, and buries his face in the crook of his arm. Richie squeezes his hip, pulls him back until their hips press together.

Richie’s hand caresses a long broad trail down his spine, leaving Eddie’s skin tingling with heat in its wake, until it comes to rest at the nape of his neck, Richie’s fingers tangling into his hair. “But you take it so well, Eds,” he says lowly, voice barely above a growl that sets Eddie’s nerves aflame, “love your slutty little pussy, feels so fucking good around my cock.”

Eddie’s face is so warm he’s sure he looks seconds away from bursting into tears—they’d all always called him a crybaby as a kid for a reason. He settles for a pathetic mewling noise that gets muffled into his forearms as Richie fucks into him deep, excruciatingly slow so that he feels every inch breach the tight heat of his body.

“You want it?” Richie asks, and when Eddie whines, nods desperately, he adds, “say it out loud, Eds, ask for it like a good boy.”

Eddie raises his head, cheeks flaming, and fixes his gaze on the silver handle of the cabinet in front of him. “Please,” he says immediately, and the lack of hesitation makes his voice shake. God, he _is_ a slut. “ _Please_ , Rich, I wanna—” he pauses to swallow hard, his throat dry and voice cracking, “I wanna cum, please, I need it harder.”

Richie fucks him hard then, punching the breath from his lungs without warning in the form of jerky moans, and he pushes his hips back against Richie’s, shameless and needy, until Richie takes pity on him and reaches a hand around, jerks him off with slick fingers.

Richie shifts inside him, the angle changing, and Eddie chokes over a moan when Richie’s thick cock brushes his prostate, and he grinds back, chasing the friction.

Eddie cums whimpering, his cheek pressed to Richie’s jacket, breathing in the scent of him off the fleece, and Richie follows a second later, pulling out, and then Eddie feels the warmth of Richie’s cum splatter across his lower back.

“Ew,” he complains, twisting immediately to shoot Richie a dirty look.

Richie glances dreamily down at him sprawled on the floor, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Definitely getting you an apron,” he decides.


	7. Overstimulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s something about the way Eddie gets flustered that makes riling him up all the more irresistible. Richie likes watching the flush on Eddie’s cheeks, pink at first, then deepening to a shade of red when he is truly embarrassed that always sends a secret little thrill through Richie, to know that he’s the one making Eddie react in such a way.
> 
> It had started reactionary, at least, when he’d been younger. He’d liked knowing that he could push Eddie’s buttons with his words. These days, though, Richie takes more pleasure in being able to rile Eddie up physically, until he gets so frustrated that he takes Richie by the shoulders and nips his lips and growls for Richie to just _take_ him already, his cheeks flaming the whole time.

Every Tuesday and Friday, from 2:30 to 5:00PM, Eddie’s roommate has an architectural design studio class.

Every Tuesday and Friday, as Ben trudges across campus with a huge sketchbook in tow, Richie takes the elevator down a floor and pushes open the door, deadbolted and left ajar for him.

Eddie’s sitting on his bed, laptop propped up on his legs, and he glances up when Richie enters the room. “The A/C’s broken,” he announces, and gestures to the windows, slid open the dorm regulated 6-inches.

Richie doesn’t even once look towards the windows. From the moment he enters the room, his attention’s caught by Eddie, instead. In the late summer heat, Eddie’s wearing shorts that ride up his thighs where he sits cross-legged on the bed, and a loose shirt that belongs to Richie, stolen sometime from his dorm.

Eddie’s cheeks are flushed from sitting in the stuffy room, bangs stuck to his forehead with perspiration, but the wrinkle between his dark brows is serious and determined as he works on whatever assignment.

“What’re you working on?” Richie asks, nudging his shoes off and climbing onto the bed, settling behind Eddie, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind.

Eddie makes a frustrated little noise when Richie presses his chest to his back, muttering without looking up from the screen, “it’s too hot, Rich, go sit somewhere else.”

Richie doesn’t move, and Eddie doesn’t push him away; a good sign. Richie hooks his chin over Eddie’s shoulder and folds over him, long and gawkish and awkward, still, at the age of nineteen. Sometimes Richie thinks he’s never going to stop growing, becoming eternally longer and gaunter. He watches Eddie type methodically, his neat skinny little fingers flying across the keyboard.

The collar of the shirt is worn and stretched, hanging off Eddie’s bony shoulders, and Richie hooks a finger into it, tugs it to expose more of the nape of Eddie’s neck and much of his shoulders.

There’s something about the way Eddie gets flustered that makes riling him up all the more irresistible. Richie likes watching the flush on Eddie’s cheeks, pink at first, then deepening to a shade of red when he is truly embarrassed that always sends a secret little thrill through Richie, to know that he’s the one making Eddie react in such a way.

It had started reactionary, at least, when he’d been younger. He’d liked knowing that he could push Eddie’s buttons with his words. These days, though, Richie takes more pleasure in being able to rile Eddie up physically, until he gets so frustrated that he takes Richie by the shoulders and nips his lips and growls for Richie to just _take_ him already, his cheeks flaming the whole time.

He watches Eddie’s nose crinkle when he frowns, his eyes pausing on the sparse, light freckles there. He’d been covered with them as kids, especially after sunny days spent at the Derry quarry or traipsing through the Barrens, the sun beating down on the napes of their necks. These days, it’s only in the middle of summer that Eddie gets a light speckling of them across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his shoulders.

Richie traces those freckles along his shoulders now, scraping his blunt nails against them, and Eddie shivers just a little, the motion rolling through him.

He pushes Richie’s hand away, squirming uncomfortably until he’s free, and blinks up at him with wide, unfocused brown eyes.

“What?” he asks uncomfortably, though he seems more concerned about Richie’s persistent hands than listening to what he has to say.

Richie doesn’t reply, and Eddie doesn’t push, but he hisses, “Richie, _stop_ ,” and digs an elbow into Richie’s side until his hands settle on Eddie’s hips under the hem of his shirt.

And for a bit, they’re comfortable like that, Eddie typing away on his assignment, Richie with his cheek pressed to the nape of Eddie’s neck, holding his hips from behind, his long, lanky legs bracketing Eddie’s.

Richie wishes he could sit still as long as Eddie wants him to sometimes, but there’s something in him that rejects the very thought of that so inherently that he finds his fingers cramping up where they’re wrapped around Eddie’s narrow hips, long and pale and more than a little spooky on Eddie’s light tan. His feet start tapping against the flimsy dorm bed, making it creak rhythmically, and Richie thinks idly about how every time the sorority girls neighboring Eddie’s room give him dirty looks when they see him in the hall for all the grief Richie and Eddie have given them through the shared wall. Somehow, all the noise complaints had been against _Richie_ , completely unfairly in his opinion, because it’s _Eddie_ who makes most of the noise (although, he will admit, he is usually the cause of it).

Eddie huffs annoyedly then, and it makes Richie tune back in. “Richie,” he says, shrill, and Richie realizes he’s started squeezing and pinching the soft skin of Eddie’s hips between his fingers. Eddie’s cheeks are that familiar pink, his wide, dewy brown eyes alight with desire, his breathing ragged.

Richie allows a smile to tug at his mouth, sheepish, but not apologetic. “If your homework was that important, you wouldn’t have left your door open for me.”

Eddie blinks and wets his lips, his tongue peeking out, small and pink. Richie’s hands climb his ribcage, feeling the narrow bones under slightly sticky skin, and Eddie freezes like he’s holding his breath. “Got me there,” he says wryly, and tilts his head back onto Richie’s shoulder. His eyes fall shut, long dark eyelashes against his freckled cheeks. Richie thumbs over his nipple and Eddie swallows hard, his brows crinkling together, and Richie watches his adams apple bob, stark against the tilt of his neck.

Under the pads of his thumbs, Eddie’s nipples go hard, and Richie circles them, pinches them between his fingers, and the way Eddie moans sends a bolt of arousal through him, white-hot and leaving him breathless.

Eddie shuts the laptop and pushes it away, rounds on him and says exasperatedly, “Have you ever not been horny once in your life?”

Richie gives him a slow, salacious kind of smile as Eddie climbs into his lap, snaking his arms over Richie’s shoulders. “Have you ever not been so sexy, Eds?” he asks, as Eddie shoves his glasses up the bridge of his nose for him and presses a kiss to his mouth, chaste and firm.

Richie’s hands lift the hem of his shirt this time, and Eddie lifts his arms, lets Richie undress him. His dick is already embarrassingly hard, and when he pushes his hips forward, grinds down against Richie’s lap, Richie’s just as turned on, guiding his hips down in a sloppy rhythm as he sucks Eddie’s lower lip into his mouth until it’s swollen.

He curls a hand around Richie’s face, brushes a couple errant curls back away from his forehead, and traces the sharp cut of his cheekbone with his thumb. Richie’s eyes flutter shut, his heavy eyelids slipping over dark, blown pupils, and his lips fall open, pink and soft, as Eddie strokes his hair, petting him like a cat.

He undoes the buttons on Richie’s shirt one by one, revealing the pale, unblemished skin of his chest. His shoulders have broadened recently, taking his chest from the narrow trembling thing it had been to a muscled plane that Eddie massages with his palms, smoothing his hands down the wide slopes of his shoulders.

He lets Eddie nip at his neck, kissing and suckling the skin, leaving bruises blooming on his pale skin, until he decides he’d rather get his hands on Eddie, instead. He pushes Eddie back, flat down against the bed, and cages him down against the mattress. Eddie blinks up at him, doe eyes warm with affection, the cute little upturn of his nose crinkling when he grins.

“Your hair’s getting so long,” Eddie says, reaching up to tug a strand between his fingers. Richie knows how his curls float around his head like a halo lately, making the sharp angles of his face only stand out even more starkly, but he kind of likes the affect it has, making his dark eyes stand out on a pale razor-sharp face. Maybe, now with his glasses gone and contacts in, he even stands a chance next to Eddie, with his delicately crafted features, the perfect sprinkling of freckles on his nose, the dark, soft brown of his pretty eyes. Maybe Richie will feel like he deserves to stand there, next to gorgeous Eddie Kaspbrak with his perfect legs and silver tongue and loving eyes.

“It’s pretty,” Eddie says, and grips his hair more fully, dragging him down for a kiss. “Although, Mrs. T would have a fit.”

Richie snorts. “And what would Mrs. K think of me doing all this to her little Eddie-bear?” he asks, shimmying down the length of Eddie’s body, down between his legs. He presses a kiss to Eddie’s flat belly, right under his navel, and curls his hand over Eddie’s dick.

Eddie makes a face. “Don’t mention her with my dick in your hand,” he complains, and when Richie licks a stripe up the side of his cock, his voice becomes marginally shakier as he adds, “or in your mouth, either.”

He pulls Eddie into his mouth then, sucks his cock until Eddie whines, his hips arching off the squeaky dorm bed, and he curls his hands around Eddie’s ass, pulls him closer by the hips and lets Eddie’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Eddie whimpers as Richie’s rough hands spread him open, two fingers brushing over his hole dry, and Richie pulls off to gasp for breath, pressing his swollen lips together briefly. He uses his spit to jerk Eddie off slow, trailing kisses lower between his thighs, and Eddie’s thighs shift restlessly over his shoulders, his legs drawing together instinctively.

Eddie makes a soft, sweet noise when Richie licks over his twitching, sensitive hole, shuddering jerkily under Richie’s hands. Richie grips his hips tightly, dragging him closer, pressing his tongue flat against Eddie’s ass, licking broad stripes over the tight pucker of his hole until Eddie squirms, crying in embarrassment, “Richie, hang _on_ , I didn’t s _hower_ , don’t just—”

Richie pushes his knees up to his chest, and Eddie’s face reddens as Richie holds him open, eats him out until Eddie’s thighs tremble uncontrollably, his dick leaking and flushed between his legs, his lashes wet when they flutter rapidly. He whimpers softly as Richie fucks his tongue into him, slick and warm against the sensitive tensed muscles of his rim, loosening them gradually.

Richie presses a finger against him, and Eddie curses, a long string of profanity as Richie pushes the digit in down to the second knuckle with only spit at lube. He licks sloppily around it, crooking his finger searchingly until Eddie sobs, “Stop, stop, I’ll cum, I’m gonna cum!” and writhes away from him.

Eddie throws a forearm over his face, hiding it from view as he gasps for breath, but Richie gathers his wrists and pushes them over his head. “So cum,” he says, low, and pins Eddie’s wrists in one big hand, the other knocking Eddie’s legs apart again, and Richie sucks his long fingers into his mouth, coats them in saliva, and presses them to Eddie’s hole again, pushing his middle finger past the tight ring of resistance, not giving Eddie any time to adjust before he crooks his fingers insistently.

Eddie gasps, sobs and shudders against him, clinging onto his shoulders as Richie captures his mouth in long deep kisses, licking into his mouth and sucking Eddie’s tongue as he fingers him open, and Richie’s hand tightens on his wrists, holding them down tighter against the bed.

Richie licks over his hard, dusky nipples, then, his slick pink lips closing over Eddie’s chest to suck bruises there, nipping at his sensitive nipples, rolling them between his fingers. Eddie’s breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling rapidly, hitching whenever Richie brushes his prostate a little too hard, a jerky little moan falling from his mouth.

“Cum,” he tells Eddie again, just a little more insistently this time, and slides his thigh over Eddie’s, pressing his knee up so Eddie’s dick presses against him. He rolls their hips together, crooking his fingers inside Eddie, squeezing his wrists so hard that Richie’s sure Eddie will wear bracelets of bruises for the next week.

Eddie cums, blinks wide, wet eyes at Richie, moaning helpless and loud, a keening, “ _Richie_ , _Richie, it’s too much_ ,” as he grinds up against Richie’s thigh, shaking and riding out his orgasm, smearing cum over Richie’s hip.

He clings onto Richie afterwards, still trembling finely, but Richie strokes a hand down his stomach and pushes him back down on the bed, reaching over him to grab the lube they’d bought from the CVS around the corner on campus just the previous weekend. Stan and Mike had been with them, and Stan had rolled his eyes when Richie had rung it up, muttering something about self-control, while Mike had smiled mildly and added, “well, he’s not _wrong_ ,” when Eddie had looked affronted.

He slicks his fingers easily, pressing them back to Eddie’s quivering hole, pushing them in despite the resistance, and Eddie mewls, twisting away from him. _“Richie!_ ” he sobs, “too deep, oh god, it’s too deep,” and completely contrary to his words, he pushes down against the long fingers, fucking himself on them lewdly, his cock still half soft and sensitive.

Richie fingers him on two fingers until Eddie feels sloppy and loose around them, and then he presses in a third, scissoring them apart, and Eddie moans brokenly, clamping down tight on all three digits as Richie drags them deeper into him.

It’s only when Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s waist and pulls him closer, licking desperately into his mouth, begging, “Please, please, Rich, I need your cock, wanna—wanna cum from your cock,” that Richie replaces his fingers with the head of his cock.

Eddie whines as Richie fucks into him, his body tense, his legs quaking where they’re wrapped around Richie’s narrow hips. Richie pauses, shifts to pull Eddie’s skinny ankles over his shoulders, folding him tighter.

Eddie gasps, a long drawn out sound, as the angle changes and it makes Richie sink in deeper. “Like this?” Richie asks, grinding them together rhythmically, and Eddie nods, frantic, oversensitive tears glistening in his dark eyes. “Tell me what you want, Eds.”

Eddie glances up at him through his eyelashes. Bashfully, he chews his lip for a moment in contemplation before he says, “Can—can you fuck me from behind, please, Richie?”

Shit. Eddie asks so sweetly, cocking his head just so, and he _must_ know how crazy it drives Richie, there’s no other explanation for how he knows how to push Richie’s buttons so well. Richie clears his throat roughly. “Sure,” he says immediately, soothingly pressing his lips to Eddie’s temple, “I got you, turn around baby.”

He pulls back and watches Eddie resettle on his elbows and knees, folding his arms together and pressing his cheek there. Richie guides his legs apart, spreading Eddie open, and Eddie makes a low embarrassed noise as his hole twitches reflexively, needy for Richie’s cock. Richie licks his thumb and presses it to the pink, slick pucker, rolling his thumb in firm circles that have Eddie’s hips jerking in his grasp, a surprised moan ripping from his swollen mouth.

Richie slicks his cock up with another generous helping of lube, pressing it, slippery and warm, against the curve of Eddie’s ass. “Shit,” he groans as Eddie’s body contracts around him, hot and so achingly tight, unbearably soft against his dick, “Eds, you’re so fucking good, your pussy feels like it was made for my cock.”

He really doesn’t give Eddie time to adjust this time, setting their pace at just short of brutal, pounding into the soft give of Eddie’s body until the creaky bedframe slams the concrete dorm wall with every hard thrust, and Eddie sobs every time Richie pulls him back, feeds his cock into his tight hole. Richie fucks him until Eddie wails, fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets until his cock bobs between his legs, hard again.

Richie takes Eddie’s wrists again, this time pulling them behind his back, and he watches Eddie’s freckled back tense as he fucks into him harder, pulling him back onto his thick cock, and Eddie cums like that, untouched, his cock spurting across the sheets as he gasps for breath, grinding lewdly against Richie’s hips.

Richie pulls out and lets Eddie flip onto his back, barely letting him catch his breath before he slides into Eddie’s side, propping himself up on his elbow.

He presses his index finger to the upturned tip of Eddie’s delicate nose (cute, so fucking cute that Richie wants to cry sometimes, when he catches himself staring and has to force himself to stop) and bops it gently.

Eddie looks dreamily up to him, grins as Richie hooks his arms through his knees and slides his cock back into him in one long stroke. Eddie’s toes curl, his hands pressing flat to his belly. His eyes widen dramatically as he rubs across his tummy, pressing down, and he moans lowly, “Richie, Richie, I can feel you—shit, I can feel you inside my stomach, so fucking deep.”

Richie whimpers helplessly at the thought, nudging Eddie’s hand aside and pressing his own broad palm there instead, his long fingers curling protectively over Eddie’s lower belly. “Wanna cum inside you,” he begs sweetly, the muscles in his lean, long thighs pulling taut with restraint, “Please, Eds, I wanna fill you up with my cum, can I please?”

“Oh,” Eddie says, feeling a little floaty and ridiculous, “well, since you said please.”

Richie gives a startled little laugh at that, and to his surprise, the torrential feeling of love that fills him then actually pushes him over the edge, his hips working frantic against Eddie’s, and Eddie’s legs tighten around his waist. He says helplessly fond, “love you, Eds, love you so fucking much,” and cums, fucking his load into Eddie’s tight ass as Eddie holds onto him in a tight embrace, hiding his face shyly in Richie’s neck.

Eddie whimpers at the feeling of warmth spreading inside him, his dick already filling again between his legs. Richie rocks their hips together a couple times as he rides out the waves of his orgasm, and then he’s pulling out, the thick head of his cock stretching Eddie’s oversensitive raw hole again, and Eddie cringes at the feeling.

Richie glances at the state of his dick between his legs—mostly hard again, smeared with cum from his previous two orgasms, white streaks of cum cooling on his thin freckled thighs, on the sparse thatch of curly hair at the apex of his legs.

He creeps down Eddie’s body, nuzzling into his belly, lapping up the cum there, and Eddie giggles, pushes gently at his shoulder. “Cut it out,” he says, tucking his fingers under Richie’s sharp jaw, cradling his cheek in his hand.

Richie twists his face and presses a kiss to the center of Eddie’s palm but decidedly does not cut it out, kitten licking his way across Eddie’s thighs, sliding them open and biting gently at the soft flesh of his inner thighs. Eddie gasps sharply, his dark eyebrows drawing together as he realizes what Richie’s doing.

Richie glances up at him through his eyelashes briefly, just to make sure Eddie’s not uncomfortable, before he presses his pink, pouting lips to Eddie’s fucked-out hole and tongues into him, tasting the bitterness of his own cum.

Eddie gives a half-horrified half aroused wail, twisting and writhing in Richie’s grip. “ _Wait_ , Richie,” he sobs, as Richie flattens his tongue and presses it to Eddie’s taint, stimulating his prostate externally, “too much, it’s too—”

“One more,” Richie promises, pressing a soft kiss to the crease where Eddie’s thigh meets his hip, “Cum one more time for me, Eddie, I know you can do it. Relax, let me make you feel good.”

He slips two fingers back into Eddie’s stretched-out hole, fucking sloppily into him, grinding the heel of his hand against Eddie’s dick as he does, and Eddie gives a startled cry, looking up at him with wide eyes, reaching automatically for him. He lets Eddie cling onto his forearm as he fucks him on his fingers, tangles his own fingers with Eddie’s other hand and holds them together on the mattress. Eddie’s fingers tighten around his, holding on and squeezing tight, his fingers tapered and so small between Richie’s overgrown fingers.

He gathers the cum that weeps from Eddie’s hole, an obscene sight that has his brain spinning as he fucks his cum back into Eddie and plugs him up with his fingers, filling him again.

“Gonna get you a plug,” Richie says absently, nudging his fingers against Eddie’s prostate, and he whimpers at the feeling, his dick jerking against his stomach, “so I can fill your pussy up and have you walk around all day with my cum inside you. You want that?”

Eddie moans helplessly, nodding as his cheeks flare red at his own shamelessness. Richie adores the sight, pressing kisses to the soft pale curve of his cheek, cooing about how cute he is, and Eddie blooms under the praise, a soft smile on his petit mouth.

Richie kisses him sweetly, a tender gesture that clashes directly with the quick, relentless rhythm of his fingers, and he coaxes, “Cum for me, Eds, so fucking good, you’re so good,” crooning lovingly against his mouth.

Eddie arches up into him, grinding down against his fingers, and the tears beading his lash-line spill over onto his cheeks, glistening tears against the last remnants of baby-fat clinging to his newly adult cheeks. “ _Richie_ , Richie, Richie,” he sobs, and Richie takes their tangled fingers, presses a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles as his hips jerk against Richie’s fingers from his other hand, riding out his orgasm against the rigid digits inside him.

Eddie goes limp against the sheets after his third time cumming, sucking in shaky breath after breath, trembling with aftershocks as they ripple through his delicate frame, and when Richie grabs a tissue and tries to wipe his thighs clean, he instinctively curls away, whimpering.

“Come on, Eddie,” Richie says gently after several moments of attempting to wipe the drying cum off Eddie’s stomach, “Quit squirming so much, I’m trying to help.”

Eddie looks up at him with hazy eyes. “Don’t touch me,” he complains, rolling away yet again, protectively curling his hand between his legs.

Richie gives up with a frustrated shrug. “Fine,” he says, and discards the tissue, dropping onto the bed again at Eddie’s feet.

After a moment of silence, Eddie glances down at him. He amends reluctantly, “Well… you can come cuddle, if you want.”

Richie rolls his eyes. “You’re a little bitch,” he informs Eddie, but gathers him up against his chest, pulling the sheets free and over them. They only have forty minutes and the room smells straight up like cum, and Eddie’s currently _leaking_ , which he’s going to chew Richie out about in about ten minutes when his brain reboots.

Richie shoots a text to Ben, a simple, “ _if you don’t want to be scarred for life, you’ll get dinner directly after your class_ ” and lets Eddie bury his face in his chest, rubbing his cheek all over Richie’s pec in a way that makes Richie chuckle in amusement and card a hand through his hair.

Eddie complains about how skinny he is all the time, how bad at cuddling he is because it feels like holding a bag of bones, but as Richie drags long fingers up and down the line of his spine, massaging the tense muscles at the small of his back, his tailbone, he goes soft and pliant under Richie’s hands, silent for once.

“Love you,” he whispers to Richie, sleepy and soft. His eyes are full of adoration, shining bright with it, and Richie aches somewhere deep inside.

“Love you too, Eds,” he says, and pulls Eddie closer, curling his fingers over the nape of Eddie’s neck. Eddie falls asleep like that after a couple minutes, and Richie’s heart swells at the sight, his mouth agape and the dark waves of his hair falling over his forehead.

He imagines their future sometimes; he thinks of countless lazy afternoons like this, with Eddie splayed out under him, and sometimes his face is longer, lined with age, and although Richie doesn’t know what exactly Eddie will look like ten or twenty years down the line, he figures it’s a pretty good estimate. He thinks of an eternity of loving, golden days, and his throat becomes tight with emotion.

This is a good start, he decides, looking down at the way Eddie clings to him even in sleep, his face peaceful in his slumber, to the rest of their lives. 


	8. Vampire!AU/Bloodplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie is considered royalty in the vampire crowd, with his glossy black hair and elegant pale fingers, his long, sharp fangs that press against the soft, pink swell of his lower lip. When Eddie had first become his donor, he’d been a lanky, awkward thing, his limbs too long and narrow. Now, nearly six years later, he’s mastered every inch of his body with a dangerous kind of finesse, and when Eddie catches himself staring, it’s not with childish amusement over how gawkish and haunting Richie looks, but because he’s startlingly beautiful.

Eddie hates needles.

It’s an old fear, left over from too many trips to the doctor’s as a child, where he’d been poked and prodded no matter how much he’d protested that he felt fine. Sonia had ingrained it into him well, and the fear follows him through early adolescence all the way to his late teens.

He’s eighteen now, still a little too skinny around the hips, still sun-freckled and small for his age, but now, when the doctor doing his blood test starts looking for the vein in his arm, his hands don’t shake at the thought of giving blood.

He does these bi-monthly, at Maggie and Wentworth’s insistence. Richie had flushed once, told Eddie it didn’t matter, because as long as Richie’s the only one drinking from him, the results shouldn’t change. Still, he’s content to go as long as they want him to.

Eddie becomes Richie’s donor when he’s thirteen, much to the horror of his mother. She’d attempted to pull Eddie out of the program when she’d found out that he’d signed up, but even Sonia Kaspbrak and all her anxieties had stood no match in the face of the ancient bloodline from which Richie descended. The compatibility had been astounding, like Eddie’s blood had been made for Richie, and that is such a rare thing, that Richie’s parents don’t want to let go.

Richie feeds from him once a week. It’s the maximum his mother had allowed, while he’d been a minor, and Richie doesn’t need much more than that to sustain himself, anyways. Eddie’s mother had always been a bigoted, close-minded kind of woman, who’d tried to fill his head with the hateful drivel about vampires that had been common among the rural population.

Richie’s parents offer him a large, comfortable room in their home the week after Eddie turns eighteen, and with nothing to lose, he takes the offer. Richie’s house feels more like home than his mother’s place anyways, with how much time they spend there.

He gets the results of his blood test while he’s woozy, still feeling the phantom ache of the needle sinking into the soft inside of his elbow. His test is clean, as always, and when the private doctor Richie’s parents had hired to do this exactly six times a year leaves his room, Richie strides in before the door’s even closed.

Eddie sits up a little straighter on the bed, trying not to look as pallid and nauseous as he feels. Very recently, his relationship with Richie has taken a very strange turn he’s still struggling to understand. Richie’s finally stopped growing, ( _just short of the doorframe, thank goodness,_ Maggie likes to laugh on Sunday mornings when Richie stoops into the kitchen) and he looms over Eddie with a sullen mouth.

“Why are you moping?” Eddie asks, tearing his eyes from the soft pink of Richie’s lips, up to the dark grey of his eyes.

Richie shoves his glasses up his nose and sinks onto the bed beside him. “Wish you didn’t have to do these stupid tests anymore,” he says, folding his long legs to his chest. He reaches a hesitant hand out, letting it hover in the air above Eddie before he grasps Eddie’s shoulder gently. 

“I don’t mind, really.”

“But I do.” Richie stares broodingly down at his own fingers against the light blue of Eddie’s pullover before he removes them.

Eddie sits up, pleased when he doesn’t pitch forward despite the way his head throbs. He tucks himself into Richie’s side, curling his fingers into Richie’s black sweater over his sternum. Richie doesn’t need to breath, but he does anyways, just because he’s made a habit of it, living amongst humans. Anything to blend into the crowd and not seem eerie.

When they’d been younger, the whole _vampire_ thing hadn’t been so normalized yet, and like Eddie’s mother, most of the older generation hadn’t been so accepting. As they’d gotten older, though, as Richie grows into his long limbs and devastating cheekbones, it had become a fad, a fetish even, for some. The same reason Richie had been bullied on the playground as a kid had become the reason for groupies approaching him in high school.

Richie is considered royalty in the vampire crowd, with his glossy black hair and elegant pale fingers, his long, sharp fangs that press against the soft, pink swell of his lower lip. When Eddie had first become his donor, he’d been a lanky, awkward thing, his limbs too long and narrow. Now, nearly six years later, he’s mastered every inch of his body with a dangerous kind of finesse, and when Eddie catches himself staring, it’s not with childish amusement over how gawkish and haunting Richie looks, but because he’s startlingly beautiful.

Richie catches him staring—he always does, with his superhuman reflexes. “What?” he asks, and grins, silly. It’s a very familiar expression, his eyes softening on Eddie. “You like looking at me that much?”

He bares his teeth playfully, his elongated canines on display. Eddie remembers once, when they’d been fifteen maybe, he’d crawled into Richie’s lap one hazy golden afternoon and pushed Richie’s lips apart with his thumb, using the pad of it to trace the long fang. Richie had shook under him, a low embarrassing noise escaping his throat before he’d been able to stop it.

“Just thinking about how ugly you are,” Eddie replies sweetly, rubbing his cheek against Richie’s shoulder.

Richie’s fingers wrap around his wrist then, suddenly lifting it from his chest. Eddie watches him tug at the sleeve of his pullover, revealing his thin freckled arm, all the way up to the crook of his elbow.

There’s a little white cotton pad taped to his inner elbow, already dark and soaking through with blood. Richie’s tapered fingers peel the tape off, removing the pad to reveal the wound. He glances down at Eddie as blood wells to the surface again, a slow fat drop of it beading down his forearm.

“Can I?” Richie asks, always bashful, his pale cheeks flushing pink. Eddie thinks briefly about saying no, just to be an asshole, and then looks at Richie’s earnest, sparkling eyes.

He chews the inside of his lip. “Yeah,” he decides finally, because the worst of the dizziness has passed, and the doctor hadn’t taken much blood at all for his sample.

Richie doesn’t waste any time, easily pulling him into his lap, and Eddie lets himself be manhandled for the moment, his head tilted to the side to bare his neck. Richie pulls his arm between them though, cradling it to his chest before he brings it up to his mouth, pouting his lips to press a kiss over the puncture, smearing the trail of blood against his mouth.

Eddie watches, eyes wide, as Richie’s tongue pokes out from between his lips to lick up the crimson smudge of Eddie’s blood there, and then he laps at Eddie’s forearm, the velvety heat of his tongue leaving a wet trail cooling on Eddie’s skin.

Eddie curls his hand into a fist and uncurls, the muscles in his arm tense when Richie pulls away. “Yuck,” he says, but his voice is hoarse.

Richie drops his wrist in favor of pressing his palm to the small of Eddie’s back instead, holding him closer. He presses his mouth to Eddie’s neck, nuzzling into the dull throb of his pulse. Eddie feels the wet warmth of his breath briefly, and then the dry press of Richie’s lips against his skin.

He rakes his fingers through Richie’s dark curls, and Richie purrs sweetly against his throat, his soft, slick tongue sliding over Eddie’s pulse. He feels Richie’s lips peel back, the gentle scrape of his teeth, and then the piercing ache of Richie’s fangs slicing easily through his skin and muscle and fat, through sinew, until rich, hot blood surges to the surface, erupting into his mouth.

The hurt is replaced by something much more pleasant then, as Richie’s saliva works its wonders on the human system and clouds his mind to the pain, and as he folds into Richie, suddenly boneless and pliant, he feels warm, sure arms come around him, holding him carefully as Richie laps at the flow.

Eddie lets his eyes fall shut as Richie drinks his fill, feeling the overwhelming presence of Richie around him, coaxing the lifeblood from his veins. Richie’s hands stroke his back mindlessly, aiming to comfort, but the motion only riles him up, his breath hitching on an inhale, wrapping his legs tight around Richie’s narrow hips.

Richie instinctively grips his waist, pulls him close and grinds up against his ass, and Eddie gasps, startled. He’s hard, or at least getting there, and when he snakes his hands around Eddie’s ass, aligning their hips, Eddie feels arousal crash through his system, hot and uncontrollable like a wildfire.

Richie’s tongue is silky over the bite, cleaning up the sticky trails of blood streaming down the column of his neck, pooling at his collarbone, a stark scarlet against his skin, and Eddie clings to him, rocking his hips down against Richie’s cock through their clothes, needy.

He pulls away from the bite once his saliva makes it close up, his lips stained with smears of Eddie’s blood. Before he can help himself, Eddie reaches out and rubs his thumb over the curve of Richie’s lip, cleaning it for him.

Richie smiles, not the goofy smile Eddie’s used to, but the breathtaking, slow kind that he’s taken to showing Eddie sparingly lately, his lips curling into a lazy smirk that drives Eddie up the wall.

He cranes his neck and drags his tongue up Eddie’s thumb, licking the blood off, and Eddie blinks down at his glistening thumb, suddenly thinking only of the heat of Richie’s mouth.

Richie kisses him then, and Eddie tastes blood, tangy and salty, as Richie sucks his tongue. He leaves smudges of red all down the column of his neck, and then tugs the hem of Eddie’s pullover up, exposing the slender curve of his ribcage, pressing open-mouthed kisses all down his stomach to his thighs.

Eddie lets Richie tug his shorts down his thighs freeing his cock, and watches as Richie purposefully forgoes it, instead pushing his legs apart, scraping his sharp teeth over the soft, vulnerable skin of Eddie’s inner thighs.

He makes an impatient noise, wrapping his leg around Richie’s shoulder, and snaps, “Can you hurry up, already?”

Richie glances up from under his dark eyelashes, and Eddie feels the sharp heat of his teeth against his thigh as Richie bites into him, breaking the skin effortlessly. He can’t help the whine it drags form his mouth, half pained until Richie laps apologetically over the mark, closing it and painting sticky, messy blood over his soft pale skin at the same time.

He spits into his hand, wrapping it around Eddie’s dick. He rises up, and Eddie reaches for his jeans, unbuttoning them and shoving them down his lean thighs, pulling his thick cock from his underwear.

Richie gets a hand around both of them, his long fingers wrapping them in a spit-slicked, loose fist, and Eddie can’t help the jerky moan that spills from his mouth when Richie fucks down against him, grasping at Richie’s back, his nails scrabbling to hold on.

He’s already lightheaded and dizzy, and when Richie leans down to kiss him deeply, Eddie feels the rest of the world fall away, drowning out everything but the soft, slick feeling of Richie’s tongue against his.

He cums gasping into Richie’s mouth, and Richie whimpers at the feeling of his cum against his cock, hot and so fucking slippery, and after a moment, he drags his dick through a tight fist and follows, painting his release across the curve of Eddie’s hip, hissing low in pleasure, tipping his head back, and Eddie watches the sharp, delicate line of his jaw with lidded eyes.

Richie hunches forward again as he steadies his breath, leaning over Eddie, caging him against the mattress. “Eds,” he grins, soft and affectionate and silly, “Gimme kissy.”

He puckers his lips exaggeratedly, laughing when Eddie shoves his cheek away. “Please?” he asks, sounding so sincere that Eddie flushes, dragging him down and pressing a quick peck to the corner of his mouth before letting him go again.

He sinks into the mattress and only realizes then how his head spins, dizzy from the needles and now the loss of blood. He glances down at the disheveled state of himself, smears of crimson blood painting his stomach, the freckled span of his chest, between his thighs where Richie had bit him again.

He shoots a look up at Richie. “You need to—”

“I know, baby.” Richie gives him a wry smile and Eddie hears him rearrange his clothes rather than seeing, because his eyes fall shut, exhausted.

Richie does a shoddy cleanup job while Eddie watches, his eyes becoming heavier and heavier, and when Richie leans down to kiss him, Eddie tiredly clings to him and whines, “stay here, Rich, don’t leave,” in a needy little voice that renders him utterly incapable of even thinking of leaving.

He falls asleep like that, perfectly content.


	9. Threesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan wonders briefly if he’s lost his mind. This is Richie ( _Richie Tozier_! His oldest and most annoying friend!) and Eddie, sweet, beautiful Eddie, looking up at him with curious eyes, and Stan is supposed to be the sensible friend, not the one to go to for _threesomes_.
> 
> And yet, he looks over his boys—Richie with his awkward, gawkish frame, his long skeletal fingers splayed out on his navy sheets, Eddie watching him with deep, deep brown eyes, chewing his soft pink lower lip in thought, and he feels a sense of protectiveness wash over him.
> 
>  _I could never_. Stan swallows hard, and the sentiment disappears down his throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: [dropping hints that i also do accounting]

Stanley studies in the library from exactly eight in the evening to half past midnight for his Managerial Accounting quiz, memorizing how to do income statements and find overapplied manufacturing overhead until his brain starts to buzz like someone’s tipped open his mouth and poured a swarm of bees into it, the numbers in his spreadsheets glazing together in long chains he can’t work out anymore.

It’s cloudy when he makes his way down the library steps, the moon obscured, the air hanging moist and heavy with the promise of rain. He ducks across the shortcut that leads through the shittiest freshman dorms and comes out by the edge of campus he calls home.

The girl at the front desk doesn’t even look up from her phone as he passes, and that suits Stanley just fine. He’s achy and drained from studying, brain buzzing from the free coffee Bill had given him from the campus Starbucks—Richie’s favorite Wednesday afternoon pastime is sitting with Eddie and Bev in one corner of the shop, simultaneously tutoring the two and annoying the shit out of Bill during his work-study shift, and sometimes Bill calls Stan to come drag Richie away when he’s being particularly relentless.

Richie has been Stan’s roommate since freshman year, when Eddie had decided that rooming with Richie would make him fail out within a semester. Stanley loves Eddie with all his heart, and even he knows that’s absolutely true, so he’d kissed his perfect rooming situation with Ben goodbye and Richie had moved in the next week, bringing with him all the chaos in the world.

Stan holds the metaphorical reins on what he and Eddie like to refer to as ‘Richie’s leash’ better than even Bill sometimes, and a million times better than Eddie, who suddenly loosens up and becomes Richie 2.0 in the original’s presence.

Most days, dealing with Richie Tozier for a roommate is easy. He never shuts the hell up and every night, before Stan falls asleep, Richie wastes at least half an hour cracking stupid jokes in the dark of their shared room while Stan pretends not to be silently shaking with laughter, and it works.

Well, most of the time it works.

The quiz he’s been studying for is only going to be available to take online tomorrow in a short window from six in the morning to noon, but he’s fairly sure he’s mastered most of the material. As the dilapidated elevator rises shakily to the fourth floor, Stan reviews formulas for break-even points and contribution margin ratios in his head, his feet on auto-pilot.

Their hall is littered in streamers and glitter like it always is—their hall theme is pride, which is very cool and all, but Stan’s had to scrape glitter off three pairs of shoes so far, and he’s pretty sure the carpets in the halls will be covered for years to come.

And finally, he comes to stand before the looming door of his dorm, the number plaque next to the door proudly proclaiming _RM- 413_. He reaches for his key, goes to jam it in the lock, and then something goes wrong.

He looks down at the doorknob in mild surprise. There is a sock on it.

The biggest caveat to having Richie as a roommate is this: Eddie is over about 85% of the time, in Richie’s bed, kicking his feet up onto Stan’s desk chair, resting them on the neatly folded clean laundry Stan had left there, and, most commonly, making out with Richie.

Stan ought to be used to this by now. Eddie and Richie have been unbearable like this for years, but back in high school, he at least had the reprieve of his own home. In the dorms, there is nowhere to escape the madness save the library, but the suffocating silence of it drives Stan up the wall in a different way.

The two of them are so _intimate_ , it almost makes Stan feel bad for being there, for intruding on such a personal moment. He feels like a voyeur sitting on his bed trying to focus on his laptop and not at the hushed way Eddie and Richie speak to each other, curled together in the bed across the room.

This glaring con of living with Richie has come to a head this week especially, and as Stan looks at the sock on the door (clean, pressed, definitely Eddie’s) he feels a moment of surreal wonder. This week, Eddie and Richie had not been cuddling in Richie’s bed like it’s their mission in life to make Stan uncomfortable. This week, for reasons that are still completely unknown to Stan, for reasons that Stan thinks he wouldn’t even be able to comprehend, Richie and Eddie have made him an _offer_.

He’d said no. Of course not, he’d cried, as if the very idea itself were absurd; he could never. That had been days ago, and Richie had rolled his eyes in that casual, oh so _Richie_ way of his, and told him later when Eddie had gone back to his own dorm and Stan and Richie had lain in the darkness, “If you change your mind, you’re still welcome to it.”

Now, with exactly four and a half hours’ worth of studying on his mind, Stanley looks down in mild horror at the sock on the door as he contemplates opening it.

If he’s being honest, it’s been a while. This semester’s been rough, taking up all his time in the form of quizzes and mindless busy-work, spreadsheet after spreadsheet filling his hard drive. He hasn’t had a hookup in months, and with what little free time he had allotted in his meticulous schedule he usually spends with their friends.

The hot, persistent voice of desire whispers in his ear like the devil. Stan misses being touched. He misses Richie’s elegant fingers across his forearm and Eddie’s boney knees against his thighs when he leans close and watches Stan read over his papers for him, and the soft cloud of auburn that is Beverly’s hair between his careful fingers as he’d brushed it for her.

He thinks of the way Richie and Eddie fold into each other like puzzle pieces, inherently right, and a part of him aches for it, deep in his chest.

He opens the door.

The glaring dorm lights are off, the only source of light in the room being Stanley’s desk lamp, and it throws the room into a dim golden glow. Richie’s bed faces the door, and he sits on it, half-obscured by Eddie on his lap. Stan hears them kiss, rather than sees, but they spring apart as the door opens, eyes wide and guilty.

“What are you two clowns doing?” Stan asks dryly, giving Eddie a humorless smile as he shuts the door behind him.

Eddie blinks, glancing down at the disheveled state of himself, his cheeks flooding warm with embarrassment. He sits up quickly, a scramble of Richie’s long limbs untangled from his, and he tugs his shirt down to cover soft, exposed strip of his belly above his waistband.

“Nothin’,” Eddie insists, and pushes off of Richie’s chest, scrambling across the bed. He folds his fingers over the edge of the mattress, sprawling on his stomach. “I thought you’d be in the library for another hour?”

Richie is much slower to straighten, unfurling his long limbs like one of those strange night-blooming flowers in one of Stan’s botany books, prodding his glasses up his nose and offering a mischievous smile.

“I put a sock on the door,” he says, a knowing smirk curling on his mouth.

Stan wonders briefly if he’s lost his mind. This is Richie ( _Richie Tozier_! His oldest and most annoying friend!) and Eddie, looking up at him with curious eyes, and Stan is supposed to be the sensible friend, not the one to go to for _threesomes_.

And yet, he looks over his boys—Richie with his awkward, gawkish frame, his long skeletal fingers splayed out on his navy sheets, Eddie watching him with deep, deep brown eyes, chewing his soft pink lower lip in thought, and he feels a sense of protectiveness wash over him. He’s been responsible for Richie for so long, he barely remembers a time before that sweet exasperated pang of annoyance and fondness he’s come to associate with his overgrown best friend.

Eddie’s different: not as annoying by far, and much sweeter. It’s impossible _not_ to want to take care of Eddie, with his pretty eyes and diminutive frame, and the sight of Eddie with his head in Ben’s lap or playing with Mike’s fingers or braiding Beverly’s hair when it gets long enough is a common thing for Stan. He does the same, throwing his arm over Eddie’s shoulder and tucking him close whenever they sit next to each other, and that urge to coddle manifests tainted with the heat of arousal in his mind now, brash and sudden.

 _I could never_. Stan swallows hard, and the sentiment disappears down his throat.

“Stanley?” Eddie says, sweet, much too sweet, and it makes Stanley’s teeth ache. “Do you wanna come here?”

Richie echoes in a much raunchier tone, “yeah Stan, do you wanna _come_ here?” and gives him the kind of look that makes Stan want to bite the lecherous smile off his mouth.

He goes. Eddie reaches for him and threads their fingers together, catches him as he slides onto the bed between them, tucking his feet up.

“Couldn’t resist my charm, could you?” Richie asks, arrogant as always, but the smile he flashes is genuine enough that Stanley only rolls his eyes and reaches for him.

“What can I say?” he deadpans, hands around Richie’s shoulders, “It’s impossible to resist, Tozier.”

Stan’s never thought about kissing Richie before. At least not consciously, and so when Richie curls a hand over his cheek and kisses him, Stan realizes that he’s surprised by how good it is. He doesn’t know why he’d assumed Richie would be a sloppy kisser, doesn’t even have a reason to think so because Richie, having been dating Eddie for years now, has done more kissing than Stanley ever has.

Richie’s mouth is soft against his, careful, and when he pulls away, his dark eyes fluttering open, Stan takes a deep breath.

And then he tangles his hands in the front of Richie’s shirt and tugs him close, kissing him deep. Richie makes a surprised noise against his mouth, his hands instinctively arranging to hold him, one broad palm curling over the nape of his neck, the other around his hip, hauling Stan flush against him.

Richie’s tongue brushes into his mouth, warm, and Stan startles when he feels thin arms wrap around his waist—Eddie, he realizes, and relaxes, lets Eddie slip his hands between his and Richie’s hips, cupping his dick through his jeans, teasing him until he’s fully hard.

He helps Eddie with the button, and then Eddie gets the zipper down, reaching into Stan’s briefs to pull out his cock. Then, pulling away from Richie to escape the suddenly-suffocating weight of his sweater, he rounds on Eddie, and Richie takes his place at Stan’s bare back, his own shirt unbuttoned all the way down the front, hanging off his lanky frame.

Eddie’s so _pretty_ , Stan thinks dizzily, as he catches his hips and starts tugging at the elastic waist of his shorts. Under the hem of his shirt, Stan’s hands find soft, freckled skin that flushes pink when he drags his palm over Eddie’s tummy, all the way up to his chest, and Eddie finishes the job for him, shrugging his shirt off and tossing it on the floor (on Stan’s side of the room, he can’t help noticing it, right there on his clean floor) and then Eddie works off his shorts, pushing them to his ankles and off.

It’s an odd thing, to be naked in front of them like this. He’s seen them both undressed several times over the years, but it’s never held this kind of weight before. Stan wets his lip, suddenly shy.

“Your dick,” Eddie says abruptly, and then thinks better of it, cutting himself off and flushing pink.

“What is it?” Stan says, glancing down at himself. His dick’s hard, if that’s what Eddie’s getting at, almost embarrassingly so, curved up against his stomach and bobbing right under his navel.

“Eds hasn’t seen your fat Jew cock up close before,” Richie says from behind him, amusement lacing his voice. Stan thinks for a second about slapping him. He settles for turning, pinching Richie’s pink nipple between his fingers until he gasps, twisting away.

Eddie’s still eyeing his cock when he turns back around from pretending to choke Richie out, and Stan raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s not that different,” he says, and Eddie shifts closer. He looks inquiringly up at Stan, who nods after a moment.

The hand he wraps around the base of Stan’s dick is small, his fingers skinny, not haunting and long like Richie’s, and it looks oddly petit against the angry veins of his dick, the dark redness of the head. Eddie examines his circumcision scar close, with wide unfathomable eyes that set Stan’s nerves buzzing, as Eddie looks up through his long eyelashes, his tongue peeking through his teeth in a habitual way.

“Can I taste?” Eddie asks, but the question is directed past Stanley’s hip to Richie, instead, who hums contemplatively.

It takes every ounce of self-restraint not to turn and throttle Richie, but he holds off. Richie’s voice goes low when he says, uncharacteristically authoritative, “Ask him for permission, baby.”

Eddie looks up at him with pleading, dewy eyes. Stan’s head spins. “Stanley,” he says, sweet, always so fucking _sweet_ , and Richie’s so lucky to have this beautiful devotional creature love him, “Can I please use my mouth?”

Stan cups Eddie’s cheek against his palm, cradling his face in his hand, and Eddie smiles mildly as Stanley says roughly, “Y-Yeah, Eds, you can.”

Stan nudges his dick past the parted, soft circle of Eddie’s lips, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut as Stan pushes his cock further down the slick, tight heat of his throat. Eddie looks up through his dark lashes, all soft doe-eyes and red freckled cheeks, and he thinks, absurdly, for a moment, how weird it is that a kid as prudish as Eddie sucks cock like such a champ.

“He’s good, right?” Richie says smugly, as if reading his mind. He feels the weight of the bed shift as Richie moves, settling behind Eddie instead, lube clutched between his fingers.

Stan agrees quietly, “he’s good,” and traces the bulge in Eddie’s cheek from his cock, over the curve of it with his thumb. Eddie’s eyes flutter shut under his touch, and he bobs his head around Stan’s dick, carefully sucking him deeper into his mouth until his throat flutters around the intrusion and he gags, delicate even in that act, pulling back to spit into his hand, curling his palm around Stan’s balls as he licks the head of Stan’s cock, sloppy.

“You like sucking cock, Eds?” Stan asks softly, and to his delight, Eddie moans around him, a muffled noise that breaks when Richie spreads him open and presses a slick finger into him from behind.

“You should see him,” Richie scoffs, “he can’t go two days without a dick in his fucking mouth.” and does something with his fingers that has Eddie trembling, gagging over his cock again. He pulls back coughing, and Stan automatically goes to comfort, brushing his hair back and stooping down to press kisses to his cheeks until the heaving of his chest stills.

Richie fingers him open until every crook of his fingers makes squelching noises that have Eddie and Stan’s ears equally as red, and it’s only when Eddie starts fucking back against his two fingers that he removes them and flips Eddie over onto his back.

“Ladies first,” Richie says with a leer at Stanley, making room for him between Eddie’s legs. Stanley settles there and looks down at Eddie, apprehension filling him.

Eddie’s so small, his hips narrow and each of his ribs standing stark against his skin when he stretches, stomach pulling taut. He looks down at the long, red length of his cock and sizes up the softness of Eddie’s belly, measuring how far inside Eddie he would bottom out at. When his dick slides up Eddie’s navel with no intention of stopping, he stops abruptly, feeling a little sick.

Richie makes a quiet noise from behind him and Stan looks before he can help himself. Oh. Richie’s dick is bigger than his, just by a little bit. Stanley definitely does not remember it being this big, but then again, the last time he actually got a good look at Richie’s cock had been back in middle school, perhaps.

Stan pulls Eddie’s legs up over his shoulder, feels Richie grab onto his ankle, and as Stan fucks into him deep and slow, Richie presses his mouth to the arch of Eddie’s foot, pressing a warm kiss there.

Eddie makes a gentle startled noise, quivering under Stan, and he whines, “ _Tickles_ , Rich, cut it out,” and rolls his ankle away from Richie’s grasp. He hangs on tighter to the ropy muscles of Stan’s arms, clinging to him, hiding his face in Stanley’s neck, and his feet slide off Stan’s shoulders, settling in the crooks of his elbows, the limits of his flexibility reached.

Richie settles for stroking mindless circles over Stan’s chest instead, mouthing across his shoulder, up the length of his neck. His tongue rolls, warm, under the hinge of Stan’s jaw, and then scrapes his teeth over the soft vulnerable skin there.

He thumbs over Stan’s nipples at the same time that Eddie whimpers and fucks down against his cock, his hips moving in a rhythmic filthy grind against Stan’s hips, and Stanley quakes between them, moaning a quiet broken noise into Eddie’s dark hair.

“You like Stan’s cock?” Richie asks Eddie, who nods earnestly, pulling back from the hickey he’s sucked at the base of Stanley’s throat, dragging his hands through Stan’s blonde curls.

“So good,” Eddie moans, and it sends another helpless hot wave of pleasure through Stan, to know that he’s the cause of the gentle hitch of Eddie’s voice when he babbles, “Stan, your dick’s so fucking good, it’s s-so deep, I can feel it in my stomach.”

He plants his elbows on either side of Eddie, leaning forward over him, and Eddie watches as Stan pushes his knees up to his chest and says, “Gonna fuck you so much harder than Richie. You want me to cum inside you in front of him? Show him how much better my cock is?”

The more logical side of his brain demands to know _what_ exactly he thinks he’s blathering on about right now, but Stan’s running on instinct, brain defaulting to a primal, horny thing that makes him run his mouth almost as much as Richie if it means that he’ll cum harder.

But Richie’s _into_ it, moaning desperately against the nape of his neck, rolling his hips against Stan’s ass. Eddie goes absolutely red, the blush staining his freckled cheeks, and he nods eagerly. “Please,” he sobs, fucking down onto Stan’s fat cock like a porn star, skinny little hips moving with a practiced finesse, and Stan can’t help but wonder how often Richie makes Eddie ride on top, the muscles in his lean thighs straining, to make him so good at this.

“Tell Richie how much you like it,” Stan says, high on this new discovery, and shifts angles, fucking up into Eddie with hard, calculated thrusts that have him moaning on each stroke, his toes curling, muscles tensing.

Eddie’s practically drooling, meeting Stan’s thrusts with weak twitches of his hips, his own cock bouncing against his tummy with the force of their fucking, and he immediately starts running his mouth, whining, “Richie, Richie, it’s so fucking good, S-Stan’s dick, it’s going—it’s going to make me _cum_ —”

He breaks off on a startled moan as Stan gives his dick a couple firm pumps, and Stan watches as his eyes roll back, his hips arching up off the bed, and he cums fucking up against Stan’s fist, spurting across his knuckles and splattering it across his own soft stomach.

Stan keeps fucking him through it, and Eddie’s moans turn into oversensitive whimpers, his tight, slick hole clenching uncontrollable around Stan’s dick, and he’s so fucking _close_ , that deep, primitive tightening in his balls signaling his oncoming release.

Richie playfully cups his chest again, rolling Stan’s stiff nipples between his fingers, and he says, pressing a hot, openmouthed kiss against the side of Stan’s neck, “You wanna cum inside him? Shit, Stan, fill his tight little pussy up for me, and I’ll plug him right back up with my dick.”

Richie’s hard against the small of his back, and he imagines that; Richie’s thick cock fucking Stan’s sloppy cum back into the pink, abused pucker of Eddie’s ass, and Stan shuts his eyes as his orgasm hits him, hard. It knocks him breathless, tearing the air from his lungs in a ragged broken noise, his hips grinding forward, holding Eddie down against him, burying himself as far as he can within the tight heat of Eddie’s body.

His hips jerk, milking his cum into Eddie, and Eddie shudders under him, quietly mewling about how warm it feels inside him. For a moment he’s just catching his breath, feeling his dick gradually soften, sticky and smeared with his cum, and then Richie gently nudges him over and takes his place.

He winces as his dick slips out, and Eddie’s hole clenches after him, fucked out and used, weeping thick trails of his cum, and holy _shit_ , when’s the last time he jerked off? He realizes he doesn’t remember, staring at the white gush of cum that drops from Eddie when his body gapes open helplessly.

Richie drags the head of his cock through it—through Stan’s _cum_ , the lewdness of the act setting in now that his mind is clear from his own orgasm, and Richie uses the slippery remnants of Stan’s release to push the thick head of his cock past Eddie’s swollen, puffy entrance.

Eddie wails at the feeling, beginning to shake with oversensitivity, but Richie wraps his hands around his hips and pulls him up. Stan watches as the thought he’d had about Eddie riding Richie manifests right in front of him, as Richie leans back and easily places Eddie in his lap.

“C-can’t,” Eddie stammers, his cheeks red, eyes shining, “Richie, it’s too much, can’t—”

Richie pulls him down onto his cock and Eddie yelps, his thighs trembling hard. “Like this, Eds,” Richie says kindly, and grinds their hips together in a slow rhythm, back and forth rather than up and down, and Stan settles back to watch as Richie’s long limbs cradle Eddie’s slight frame, always careful with his hands despite his crude words.

Eddie plants his hands on Richie’s flat, pale stomach right under his ribcage, and lets Richie grip his hips, fucking up into him lazily, until Eddie starts to get hard again, his dick swelling gradually.

Richie fucks into him at the same slow pace until Eddie’s eyes are wet with oversensitive tears, and Richie’s orgasm is slower, washing over him like an unhurried storm, pleasure rolling over him like clouds. He rocks against Eddie at the same pace even as his dick twitches, cum welling from the slit at the top, filling Eddie with every languid movement.

Stan comes to his senses, suddenly, and he crawls forward, between Richie’s bent legs, his feet planted on the mattress so Eddie can sit back against his lean thighs. Stan snakes a hand around Eddie’s hip, tugging his cock. Eddie sobs, his chest heaving, and when he moans Stan’s name, the sound rings around in Stan’s head, so pretty that Stan thinks he’ll recall it to himself again when he’s alone, remembering the slick velvety heat of Eddie’s cock in the palm of his hand.

“Is Stan making you feel good?” Richie asks, tipping his head back against the pillows, and the way the shadows fall over the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the dark glossy curls falling over his forehead, and the wide, soft pink swell of his mouth make Stan stare. His cheeks are flushed from his orgasm, and shit—they’re both so pretty, and Stan is so fucking screwed.

Eddie gives a jerky nod, rocking sweetly against Richie’s dick, and when Richie settles up on his elbows, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he says frantically, “Can I cum, Richie? Please, I’ll be good, let me cum again, please?”

Richie takes his time pretending to think it over while Eddie shifts his hips minutely, his dark brows drawn together over wet eyes, and finally, just as Eddie looks like he’s really going to start crying, he rubs his palm tenderly over Eddie’s quivering chest, all the way down to his pale stomach, stopping right above where Stanley’s jerks his dick with a slow, slick fist. “Yeah,” he says, tipping his hips up, nudging his cock against Eddie’s prostate, and rubs Eddie’s pink, swollen nipple between his fingers, “Cum for me, Eds, go ahead, I got you, baby.”

Eddie cums with a harsh cry, his hips fucking up into Stan’s hand until Richie pulls him back down onto his cock forcefully, grinding hard into him, and Eddie’s cock spurts slippery cum for the second time, across the snowy stretch of Richie’s hip. He goes limp afterwards, pitching forward, saved only by Stanley’s quick reflexes as he tugs him upright again.

Richie lets Eddie slide off of his hips, and Stan winces as he watches cum (his? Richie’s? Both?) flood from the loosened pink pucker of his ass as he gets up, a slow trail down his thighs.

He gets up, crossing the room to his desk to grab the pack of wet-wipes in his bottom drawer. He takes one and tosses the rest to Richie, who grins mischievously at him.

“If you even think of touching those when I’m not home, I’ll shave your head in your sleep,” Stanley threatens, carefully wiping his sticky, soft dick clean. He lets Richie handle Eddie, who’s gone pliant and boneless, curled up on his side.

Richie’s smile turns into a less lecherous, more genuine thing then, and it make Stan’s breath catch in his throat.

“Thank you,” he says instead, and Stan has one of those momentary lapses of judgement where he catches himself thinking of how pretty Richie’s eyes are and finds himself slinking across the room to sink down onto the bed again, knowing that the two of them will welcome him.

Eddie cuddles into Stan’s chest tiredly as Richie finishes cleaning him up, and by the time Richie settles on his other side, spooning Stan from behind, Eddie’s asleep.

“He always does this,” Richie chuckles into Stan’s neck, “poor baby just knocks out as soon as he cums.”

Stanley watches the soft rise and fall of Eddie’s thin freckle-covered shoulders. “Cute,” he comments, and Richie hums in agreement, his lanky arms circling around Stanley and Eddie both, gathering them both close.

They need to talk about it, of course. But Richie has a way of making serious things seem simple, and when he kicks a leg over Stan’s hip, holding him closer, their skin sliding and sticking in all the strange, new intimate places they’ve seen of each other today, Stan lets his breath slow, sleep cresting over his mind as Richie tugs his sheets up around their shoulders.

For a moment, Stan allows himself to just have this, cradling Eddie to his chest, Richie holding them close, protective. They can talk about it later.


	10. Slapping/Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie goes, “Have you ever just wanted to slap the shit out of me?”
> 
> Richie looks down at his cock. “Why are you talking about spousal abuse when my dick is hard?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A) I changed spanking to slapping bc i think its hotter and B) i had a very long day so this is short ://

Eddie goes, “Have you ever just wanted to slap the shit out of me?”

Richie looks down at his cock. “Why are you talking about spousal abuse when my dick is hard?”

Eddie’s got him pinned on the mattress, half laying atop him, but Richie straightens up on his elbows and tries to restart his brain from primitive horny mode to some semblance of logic. Eddie slides down into his lap instead, hanging onto Richie’s shoulders before he tips backwards.

“I said, have you ever wanted to just slap me?” Eddie asks impatiently, as Richie straightens his glasses slowly, as if stalling for time.

“Like… in the face?” he asks after a second, brows crinkling together in confusion. “Why would I ever do that?”

He blinks up at Eddie curiously until Eddie gives him a look; the kind that very plainly states, _Richie you are being an idiot_.

“In a sexy way?” Richie tries, and the way Eddie’s throat bobs when he swallows is answer enough to confirm that his guess is correct.

Richie looks down at Eddie’s face. His small, slender, face with its dark, solemn eyes, a light dusting of freckles like spilled sugar all over his sun-tanned cheeks, heaviest over the delicate arch of his nose.

Eddie’s cheek had felt so soft in his hand, long ago when he’d taken any chance he’d had to pinch and poke, just to watch the way a flustered pink blush would stain his cheeks when he’d shove Richie away and shout a long string profanity that only made Richie grin, wide and lecherous.

There’s no more baby fat clinging to Eddie’s cheek now when he brushes his knuckles over it, his face slight, but the same fine-boned features are familiar under his fingers as he strokes the dark arch of Eddie’s eyebrow with the pad of his thumb.

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut, sweet and pliant as he tilts his face and allows Richie to cradle his jaw between his long fingers.

Richie swallows against the dryness of his throat, and when he speaks, his voice comes out a low rasp that takes him by surprise. “Are you sure?”

Eddie’s brows draw together then, that little wrinkle Richie’s so fond of appearing in the stretch of skin between them. “ _Yeah_ , Rich,” Eddie says, and takes his wrist, gently biting at his knuckles. “I’m sure.”

He stares down at the indent of Eddie’s teeth on his skin, and oddly enough, it steadies him just a bit. His fingers work even when his mind does not, threading through Eddie’s soft brown hair and holding fast, and Eddie moves with him, so eager to please.

“Hard?” Richie asks, soft, and curls a hand over his cheek. Holy shit. Eddie’s practically vibrating in his lap, quivering in anticipation, and when he nods eagerly, Richie thinks he feels Eddie’s dick twitch against his, as if even the thought of Richie slapping him is enough to get him off.

Richie presses his hand flat to Eddie’s cheek, a little out of his depth, but he draws back and slaps gently.

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie whines, his eyes opening to shoot Richie an extremely annoyed look. “Hard.”

His hand is so _big_ against Eddie’s face, his long fingers splaying over his cheek and curled into his hair, but after another hesitant moment, he draws back and slaps harder. Eddie’s cheek goes gently pink with the force of it, and then returns to normal almost immediately, but a low whimper escapes his mouth when the blow lands, and suddenly Richie’s addicted to the sound.

He tries again on the other side, just a little bit harder, and the flush is deeper this time, and Eddie moans for real, his face jerked to the side with the force of it.

“Eds?” Richie asks, stroking over the warm skin gently, and Eddie whimpers at the feeling, turning into it instinctively. “You all good?”

He watches Eddie nod, a dreamy smile on his mouth. “So good, Richie,” he says, sweet as sugar, and presses a kiss to Richie’s jaw, and then scrapes their cheeks together, the abused, reddened skin of his cheek against the grain of Richie’s two days unshaven stubble. “It’s okay, I promise, you won’t hurt me.”

Eddie’s so small, but he’s _strong_ , Richie reminds himself fiercely. He takes a very long, very deep breath, and winds his hand back, and Eddie wets his lip in anticipation, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark.

He slaps Eddie open-palmed, hard, and it makes a sharp _crack_ as his hand collides with the softness of Eddie’s cheek, the area immediately flushing a dark, angry red, his head wrenched to the side, and Eddie moans helplessly, grinding down against Richie’s stomach, and Richie startles when Eddie’s cum slicks over his chest in the next second.

He’s breathing too hard, and Eddie’s shaking like a leaf in his lap with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and Richie stares down at his hand, the very hand that had just _slapped_ his husband and made him cum untouched, astounded.

When Eddie gets his bearings back, he slides off of Richie’s lap, and he’s still pink-cheeked, eyes dazed. Richie touches his face with cautious fingers, the skin hot under his fingers, inflamed and a little swollen.

“Shit, Eds,” he can’t help saying, and it comes out low and rough, “Woah.”

Eddie’s mouth twists into a familiar wry smile. “I don’t even want to think about what this is going to do to your ego.”


	11. Breathplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s not exactly focused anymore, too busy trying to get a hold of his breathing, cold panic settling into his bones and making him shake. His pulse beats hard, throbbing against his ribcage. He jerks when cold hands come around his wrists, but it’s just Bill, his clear blue eyes staring down at him, wide with worry. “Eds, where’s your inhaler?”
> 
> Eddie points a shaking hand to his backpack in the chair across from him, and Bill takes the damn thing, upending it right in the middle of the shop. As the students in line watch as the sole barista on shift digs through the mess of papers on the floor, Bill looks up to him, his voice rising with alarm, “Eddie, it’s not _here_ , w-where the fuck did you put it?”
> 
> Eddie’s chest is starting to hurt something fierce, so fucking heavy when he tries to take a breath that it feels like inhaling through a goddamn wet blanket, and he makes a soft, terrified noise and wheezes, “R- _Richie_ ,” and Bill immediately launches himself towards Eddie’s phone, set on the edge of the table.

Richie’s halfway across campus when Eddie presses a hand to his chest and wonders why it hurts to breathe, just a little bit.

He’s sitting in his usual nook at the little student-run coffee shop on campus, watching Bill juggle taking orders and making drinks simultaneously, a very large stack of books in front of him. They’re all sources for the paper he’s working on, for a history elective he’d only taken on a whim because Mike and Bill had been as well, and he’d figured he could get Richie to explain things to him from that great vast wealth of Richie Knowledge that had assured him a pristine academic record all throughout middle and high school.

But just three weeks into the semester, Eddie’s up to his knees in research papers and yeah, he can generally bullshit his way through the page requirement with how he’s always been good at talking a lot, and quickly too, but this is pushing even his limits.

He’s not _made_ for this kind of work. He works better with his hands and with numbers, with things that make sense and are orderly and do not depend on _opinion._

School’s never been anything that’s troubled him this much before, but this semester is pushing even his limit. He’s not effortlessly smart like Richie, or diligently studious like Ben or Stanley, and for a moment Eddie looks down at the mess of papers and books and his laptop, the bright glare of the sun shining blindingly off of it from the window, and he takes a deep breath.

Or at least, he tries to take a deep breath.

It gets stuck somewhere below his throat, where a pressure shoves down on his ribcage, and Eddie’s starting to get warm, his palms clammy when he drags them down his thighs. He wets his lip and tries again, and when that doesn’t work, he reaches for his iced coffee and finds his hand shaking.

 _Shit_. Eddie wheezes out another strangled gasp, and something aligns somewhere in the universe and it works in Eddie’s favor, because Bill happens to glance over at his little corner seat, and finds him struggling to breath, clutching at his chest, eyes wide and terrified.

Eddie’s not exactly focused anymore, too busy trying to get a hold of his breathing, cold panic settling into his bones and making him shake. His pulse beats hard, throbbing against his ribcage. He jerks when cold hands come around his wrists, but it’s just Bill, his clear blue eyes staring down at him, wide with worry. “Eds, where’s your inhaler?”

Eddie points a shaking hand to his backpack in the chair across from him, and Bill takes the damn thing, upending it right in the middle of the shop. As the students in line watch as the sole barista on shift digs through the mess of papers on the floor, Bill looks up to him, his voice rising with alarm, “Eddie, it’s not _here_ , w-where the fuck did you put it?”

Eddie’s chest is starting to hurt something fierce, so fucking heavy when he tries to take a breath that it feels like inhaling through a goddamn wet blanket, and he makes a soft, terrified noise and wheezes, “R- _Richie_ ,” and Bill immediately launches himself towards Eddie’s phone, set on the edge of the table.

Eddie kind of checks out after that, all his focus on trying to stay upright and not pass out even as he sways dizzily from a lack of oxygen, and when Bill grabs his shoulders firmly, he’s easy to drag into the breakroom of the shop. Bill hauls him to the couch and Eddie goes down willingly, hands flat on his sternum as if to manually remove the pressure there.

Bill murmurs something about staying calm and if Eddie weren’t shaking so hard, he’d tell Bill a few choice words. “Richie’s on his way,” Bill adds, and Eddie tries to remember where Richie’s even supposed to be on Thursday afternoons, but comes up blank, his mind too disarrayed with anxiety.

Bill doesn’t try to touch him, which Eddie’s glad for, as he tries to suck in lungfuls of air and not pass out. He can’t gauge time exactly, and while he definitely prefers the privacy of the back room to the gawking peers in the shop, there aren’t any windows, which doesn’t do the claustrophobic, tight feeling in his chest any favors.

The door bursts open with a loud bang, and Bill startles from where he’s nervously hovering over Eddie’s shoulder, the tenseness in his narrow shoulders relaxing significantly when Richie’s long frame slips through the crack in the door like a shadow.

He kneels immediately in front of Eddie, not paying Bill the slightest glance, and when Bill says softly, “I’ll go back to the register, you guys have the rest of the hour,” Richie only nods tightly over his shoulder, and Eddie doesn’t respond at all, making some soft, choked out noises as he struggles through another breath.

“Eddie?” Richie asks, urgent, his voice sliding into that low cadence that makes Eddie go loose-limbed and obedient so easily. “Sweetheart, can you look at me for a second?”

Eddie blinks tears out of his eyes, head still throbbing, chest heaving as he attempts to swallow a clean mouthful of air, and _where the fuck is his inhaler_? The sticky late summer humidity sticks in his throat, an enormous pressure on his chest when he wheezes a tiny helpless noise, his fingers digging stinging crescents into Richie’s forearm.

Richie gets a hand around his throat, and his eyes are solemn for once. Eddie blinks, and his vision clears marginally, just enough to see Richie rummaging around in his backpack with his other hand, his face pallid with worry.

Eddie tries to cough again, his chest seizing downwards, and his vision is spotted with black smudges, lungs on fire, and suddenly Richie’s shoving his inhaler into his mouth, his warm, demanding grip on Eddie’s throat tightening. Richie triggers the release and Eddie inhales as well as he can until the pressure in his chest starts to lessen.

Richie goes limp against him with relief, a shaky sigh of, “Jesus fucking _Christ,_ Eds,” sliding from his mouth as Eddie hangs onto the inhaler and takes a second steadier hit.

It takes several moments for him to get his voice back, and although his chest feels too tight still, he manages a weak whimper of Richie’s name that directs the taller boy’s attention back onto him instantly. Richie takes his chin between his fingers and rakes his eyes over Eddie’s tearstained cheeks and heaving chest before he pulls Eddie close and cradles him in his lap.

Eddie’s fingers tangle into the glossy black mess of Richie’s hair, winding around the curls, and as he clings on, Richie’s hands press to the small of his back, not holding him tight enough to be claustrophobia-inducing, but present nonetheless, warm through the thin material of his shirt.

He suddenly becomes aware of the fact that Richie’s out of breath, panting raggedly under him, and he pulls back, brows furrowing together. “Did you run all the way here?” Eddie demands, fisting a hand into the front of his button-up.

Richie drags a hand through his hair, sheepish now that Eddie’s calming, gradually. “I was halfway across campus when Big Bill called,” he explains, and then gives Eddie a stricken look. “Why was your inhaler in _my_ bag? What the fuck would you have done if there was like… a high pollen count or something?”

Eddie frowns. “M’not even allergic to pollen,” he grumbles quietly, and finally has the air-flow to give Richie a proper hug, so he swings his arms over Richie’s shoulders and clumsily slides closer. His voice is small when he admits, “I think I just panicked a little.”

Richie’s lanky arms hold him carefully still, but he allows Eddie to bury his face it the crook of his neck until the trembling in his hands stills completely. He feels Richie’s chest fill with his sigh under him, breathing so cleanly and easily that for a moment, Eddie is envious.

“That’s scary,” Richie murmurs, stroking a hand up his back soothingly, and when Eddie hums in agreement, nuzzling his cheek into the underside of Richie’s jaw, pouting his lips to press a lingering kiss there, he adds, soft, “watch it, Kaspbrak.”

Eddie can’t help it, really. He makes himself small, curling up against Richie’s chest, needy for physical affection, and he pleads, “Please, Rich, I just need to turn my brain off for a minute. Just a minute, I promise, I just need to stop _thinking_ before I—”

Richie tips him back off his lap and Eddie gapes for a moment in shock until he registers the set of Richie’s shoulders, his posture straightening up just a bit, his heavily-lashed eyes lidded and dark. Eddie’s knees go weak.

Richie cages him against the couch, and Eddie has just enough reason left to think absently that they’re in Bill’s _workplace_ before Richie kisses him, demandingly guiding his jaw, licking into his mouth. They shouldn’t be doing this here—they really, _really_ should not be doing this here, but Richie presses a hand between his legs and he can’t help it; he’s hard.

“If you cum in your pants like a little _slut_ before we get home and I fuck you,” Richie says, and his voice has lowered to that rasp that makes Eddie’s cheek flush pink, “I’m going to bend you over my fucking knees and spank you until you cry.”

Eddie can’t help but whimper at that, his hips rocking forward against Richie’s palm, and god, he could get off like this if Richie told him to, just grinding against his hand. As if he’d heard the thought, like he can’t bear to give Eddie even one ounce of satisfaction, he slides his hand up the length of Eddie’s body, up his belly and chest to the base of his throat.

He curls his fingers around Eddie’s neck, one by one, long and pale and boney, and Eddie wets his lip. His mind goes a little hazy, and he’s not sure if it’s a side affect of the lack of oxygen or because of the way Richie’s eyes are a dark sleet when he stares down at him, intense and steady.

Eddie exhales, a shuddery weak little thing, and Richie’s other hand presses to his stomach, feeling it turn concave, and then fill again, slowly. He’s still inhaling slow when Richie’s hand tightens on his neck, just a fraction.

“Can you make it back to the dorm?” Richie asks, calm. It helps quell the anxiety in his stomach, just a little bit. God, his therapist is going to have a field day with this one.

Eddie glances down at the way his dick tents the front of his pants. “I mean, except for campus police maybe trying to arrest me for public indecency, I think I’m okay.” He dares to take a peek up at Richie, shoots him a tiny smile. “But I wouldn’t mind if you held my hand.”

Richie can’t help but grin back, a much wider, brighter expression, and he starts shrugging his sweatshirt off without hesitation, tugging it up over his head. “Baby, just try and stop me,” he says, offering Eddie the pullover, which he takes gratefully. It’s baggy on his smaller frame, falling halfway down his thighs, and it smells like Richie; a familiar heady mixture of his deodorant and the natural, inherent scent that makes him _Richie_.

Eddie lets himself be led from the backroom into the main coffeeshop finally, pulling it together as Richie pulls the door open and calls, “Hey, Denbrough! We’re getting out of here.”

Bill’s swamped by customers again—another crowd than the one that had been here earlier to watch Eddie’s little meltdown, thankfully—and he waves back, knowing he’ll see them later.

Richie drops down in the middle of the shop and collects every single one of Eddie’s belongings, still strewn across the floor from Bill’s big hero move, and Eddie watches with a slight sense of embarrassment, though he can’t pinpoint the reason. When every pencil has been returned to his bag, Richie doesn’t even offer it to him, swinging it over his own shoulder, carrying it much more easily than Eddie ever could.

“Jeez, Eds,” he says, “How the hell do you walk around with all this shit?”

“I don’t,” Eddie deadpans, “that’s why I have breakdowns in public.”

Richie laughs at that, a soft of muffled noise that he tries to abort before it escapes fully, and he reaches down to intertwine their fingers.

The stroll back to the dorm is pleasant, and it calms the urgency in Eddie’s veins as well, oddly enough. He likes the way he has to take two steps for each of Richie’s long-legged strides, likes it even more when Richie detours to pull him into an alcove by the science building and presses him flat to the concrete of the building, kissing him silly.

“Love you,” Eddie says, a little shy, as Richie leads him upstairs to the dorm he shares with Stan.

Richie’s answering smile is soft with affection, and he tenderly kisses Eddie’s knuckles before he pulls him into the room and lets the door slip shut behind them.


	12. Edging/Orgasm Denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not yet,” Richie has the audacity to tell him, and takes his hand off of Eddie’s dick completely, grabbing his hips instead, fucking into him deeper. It punches the breath from Eddie’s lungs, as Richie drags him closer, bottoming out deep inside him until Eddie feels like he could press a hand to his stomach, push down until he feels the way Richie’s cock fills him.
> 
> Sometimes, in the mornings when Eddie’s stomach is empty, if Richie angles his hips just right when he fucks Eddie deep and hard, his lower belly shifts to accommodate the stretch, filling him with so much cock that it’s visible from the outside, a throbbing thing (like the precursor to the chest scene from _Alien_ , Richie had joked, slightly breathless at the sight the first time it had happened,) that makes him cum within seconds if Richie curls a warm palm over the little protrusion and says something moronic about making Eddie pregnant.

Richie’s already been fingering him for about an hour when Eddie twists against the three fingers he’s working inside the slick, sloppy entrance between his legs and bites at Richie’s mouth. “Just _fuck_ me already,” he growls, and wraps his slender legs around Richie’s hips, dragging him closer.

Richie likes drawing it out when he can, and Eddie’s half sure it’s because he thinks its funny how red Eddie gets, how he starts quivering and crying when Richie takes his time, until he has to resort to begging for Richie to let him cum. He feels the fingers inside him retreat slowly, one by one, until he’s frustratingly empty, and then the blunt head of Richie’s cock slides between his legs, pressing insistently against him.

Richie fucks him slowly—so slowly that his eyes flood with oversensitive tears when Richie slides in, making him feel every excruciating inch of sleek friction, his body clamping down around Richie’s cock so fucking tight.

The thick, flared head of Richie’s cock pushes in all the way and Eddie’s thighs are quivering around his waist, his ankles crossed over the small of his back. “ _Shit_ ,” Eddie says lowly, his eyes shutting tightly, dark brows scrunching together. His dick throbs against his stomach, so fucking hard and leaking shiny precum, that Richie sweeps a thumb through idly, smearing it over the swell of Eddie’s lip.

He whines, a soft noise of annoyance that makes Richie’s mouth twitch into a smile. “C’mon Eds, it literally came from you,” he says teasingly, “How are you more okay with eating mine? You have no idea where I’ve been.”

His face warms at the assertion. “Thanks for reminding me,” he says, gently shoving at Richie’s shoulders, and it makes Richie shift marginally in him, changing the angle to one that’s so sweet it makes him ache, a gasp ripping from his mouth before he can clamp his hands over it and silence himself.

The smile on Richie’s mouth grows more lecherous instantaneously, and he rolls his hips forward, slow, angling upwards, and this time he’s barely moved, only the head and a couple inches of his cock really inside Eddie, when Eddie makes a noise that Richie would interpret as pained in any other context.

“Is that good?” he croons, and tries it again, shallowly fucking his cockhead back and forth across the soft, slick part of his body that stimulates Eddie’s prostate.

Eddie’s whimpering under him with every movement of his hips, his breath hitching whenever Richie slides forward, just a little deeper each time, spreading him wider until Eddie arches up with a frustrated whine. “Can I—” he blinks, tries to orient himself by staring Richie right in the face, finding an anchor in the deep grey of his eyes. He tries again. “Can I please,” he stammers, “ _please_ , Richie, I need to—I need to—”

Richie gets a hand around his cock, jerking him off lazily, at the same slow pace that has Eddie’s cock leaking against his stomach as Richie fucks him, and Eddie chews his lip raw, until it’s swollen and red. “It’s not enough,” he says to Richie, needy, winding his arms around his neck and clinging closer, “h-harder, I think.”

“No?” Richie asks, indulgent for once, his tone softening until he’s murmuring in a low, soothing cadence that has makes Eddie’s stomach feel all fluttery with nerves, he likes it so much. “You need a little more, baby?” He sweeps his hand over Eddie’s stomach between them, warm and comforting, and Eddie slips just a little more into the haze of want that clouds his mind, nodding frantically up at him.

And then, as if just to prove that he’s an asshole, Richie grinds forward, deep, bottoming out in that one thrust, and Eddie gasps, thinks it’s just enough to push him over the edge, braces himself and shuts his eyes tight—

Richie squeezes the base of his cock hard, and Eddie keens, blinking tears from his eyes at the sudden ache, and suddenly he’s not tipping right onto the edge of cumming anymore. “What the _fuck_ ,” he rasps, twisting against the sheets, and before he can really start rambling profanity like he wants to, Richie kisses him, hard and demanding, taking his chin between his fingers and yanking his face closer.

“Not yet,” Richie has the audacity to tell him, and takes his hand off of Eddie’s dick completely, grabbing his hips instead, fucking into him deeper. It punches the breath from Eddie’s lungs, as Richie drags him closer, bottoming out deep inside him until Eddie feels like he could press a hand to his stomach, push down until he feels the way Richie’s cock fills him.

Sometimes, in the mornings when Eddie’s stomach is empty, if Richie angles his hips just right when he fucks Eddie deep and hard, his lower belly shifts to accommodate the stretch, filling him with so much cock that it’s visible from the outside, a throbbing thing (like the precursor to the chest scene from _Alien_ , Richie had joked, slightly breathless at the sight the first time it had happened,) that makes him cum within seconds if Richie curls a warm palm over the little protrusion and says something moronic about making Eddie pregnant.

Richie fucks him roughly now, holding him so tight that Eddie’s hip socket aches dully, not enough to hurt for real, but enough to leave him walking a little funny when he gets up to pee and clean himself up later.

He feels the tears beading his lashline overflow now, as Richie pins him to the mattress and fucks into him at a brutal rhythm, until his limbs are weak and trembling with desire, and he looks down between their frantic bodies, watching his own cock jerk against his stomach, red and swollen with arousal, leaking all over the flat plane of his belly, and Richie’s hips thrusting against his, and he finds himself reaching out to press his fingers to the dark line of hair leading from Richie’s navel to his cock.

“ _Please_ , Rich, I need to fucking _cum_ ,” he whines, pathetic, and presses his hand flat against Richie’s hip, looking up at him pleadingly, but Richie takes his hand and pins it to the bed, twining their fingers together to hold him down, and keeps fucking him at his intense, rhythmic pace.

Eddie practically writhes under him as he’s fucked sloppy, lube smeared between his thighs and against Richie’s stomach when their bodies come together, and Eddie makes a choked off noise when Richie presses the thumb of his other hand to the soft seam of skin right above where his cock stretches Eddie’s hole taut and pink, rubbing circles into Eddie’s taint against his prostate from the outside, and Eddie shudders, a startled yelp of Richie’s name spilling from his mouth.

“You wanna cum?” Richie breathes, and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Ask for it nicely, sweetheart.”

Oh, Eddie’s going to kill him later. Presently, though, with his cock throbbing so hard between his legs it feels like it’ll explode the second Richie gets a hand around it, he shelves his dignity and whimpers, “Please, Richie, I need it so bad, it’s t-too much,” his hips fucking down against Richie’s cock, and when Richie uses a startlingly warm hand to grab his thigh, folding his leg up to his chest to fuck him deeper, Eddie cries, “ _Please_ , please, how many more times can I say it?”

His voice breaks over the question, a sob lurching from him instead, and Richie takes his sweet time pretending to think it over, frustratingly enough, before he takes Eddie’s knees, looping his arms under them and uses the leverage to fuck into him deep, their hips pressed flush against each other, and grinds against him, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s cock.

Richie licks his lips, looking down at him with dark, dark eyes. “Cum,” he says softly, “Cum for me, it’s okay.”

He’s barely given Eddie’s dick three strokes before he cums, crying and arching, his load spilling snowy across the flat valley of his stomach between his hipbones, and the way he tightens around Richie’s cock is enough to have Richie following in another couple sloppy thrusts, fucking Eddie through it, a low groan of Eddie’s name on his mouth.

Instinctively, Eddie sweeps two fingers through the mess of cum on his belly, pressing the slender digits to Richie’s mouth, and unlike Eddie, Richie has no qualms about lapping it off his fingers, leaving Eddie’s fingers glistening with his saliva.

“Yuck,” Eddie says, and ruins the moment completely.


	13. Alpha/Beta/Omega

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only one year ago, at the tender age of sixteen, Eddie is the last of them all to present, and when he does, it’s with a heat that knocks him out for a week and then leaves him leaking pheromones like a broken fucking faucet, a billboard for all the Alphas nearby practically shouting, _fresh meat, come and get it!_
> 
> It’s not so much that Omegas are rare so much as _male_ Omegas. Eddie becomes part of the .045% of the population with that biology, and the town of Derry erupts into gossip overnight about neurotic Sonia Kaspbrak’s little Omega son with the big mouth and soft brown eyes.

The sun is just beginning to sink across the horizon when Eddie sneaks out through his bedroom window, shimmying down the lattice on the side of his house and bikes three neighborhoods over to Richie’s.

His mother is knocked out on the couch from some cocktail of pain meds and sleeping pills and god-knows-what, giving him the unexpected opportunity, so without even calling ahead, he makes it all the way to Richie’s front door before he realizes there’s a possibility that Richie’s not even home.

Neither of the Tozier’s cars are in the driveway when he knocks, but after a couple minutes, the door clicks open and Richie appears, lanky as always and dressed in sweatpants and an old band shirt.

“Sonia’s dead to the world already?” Richie asks, looking up at the sky, “It’s not even seven yet, this has got to be a new record.”

“She said she was feeling a little tired,” Eddie explains, and pushes past him into the foyer. He toes off his shoes and leaves them neatly next to Maggie’s smart heels and Wentworth’s navy loafers.

“Guess I wore her out,” Richie snarks, and Eddie makes a face at him before he realizes that the Tozier household is quiet, for once.

“Where’s your mom?” he asks, glancing around Richie’s empty first floor. Maggie Tozier should be in the kitchen about now, starting on dinner and making Richie set the table before his father returns from his practice on main street. Instead, there is only silence in the Tozier’s spacious home, elongating the shadows and turning the quiet into an anxious roar of blood in Eddie’s ears, and it makes Richie seem even eerier, with his long willowy frame draped in black, his slender white fingers wrapped around Eddie’s sleeve as he tugs him further into the house.

“Ah,” Richie says, and kicks the front door closed. “She went to visit my sister at college for the weekend and Dad’s working late. Bill was going to come over, but he had to cancel. I think something came up with the project he’s working on for Bio.”

Eddie follows him up the stairs to his room, a familiar path taken by him many times before. Richie’s room usually looks like the aftermath of a tornado, in Eddie’s humble opinion, but today it’s actually doing alright, most of Richie’s laundry in his hamper, his ceiling fan spinning lazily against the late afternoon heat, windows cracked open enough for there to be ventilation.

“What were you doing?” Eddie asks, and looks around. He’s been here too many times to be reserved, shifting through papers on Richie’s desk nosily, opening his drawers, and he finds a packet of M&M’s hidden under all the random pens Richie’s got thrown in there, tearing into it.

As the chocolate melts on his tongue, he watches Richie shift his weight from one foot to the other and follows his eyes to the television on the floor next to the dresser. Richie’s the only one out of all of them to have a TV in his room, and so it’s usually here or Bill’s basement that they find themselves dogpiling on the carpet, turning out all the lights for movie nights.

Richie glances awkwardly at the VHS. He scrubs a hand through his messy mop of glossy black hair and says a little sheepishly, “Bill and I were going to, uhh—“ he chews at his bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment, and Eddie gets a good look at the tape leaning against the blocky TV on Richie’s floor as he finishes abruptly, “we were going to watch this skin flick.”

Eddie bends down and picks it up. It’s the kind of porn he’s seen in the Blockbuster down in Augusta when he’d gone a couple months ago, in that roped off section he’d ducked under while his mother and aunt had been arguing about which crime series to rent (it only makes her paranoia worse, watching those procedural dramas, but nothing Eddie ever says makes a difference). There’s a corny title about breeding Omegas printed across the top that Eddie chooses not to read, flipping it over instead.

Across the back, there are several pictures of the Omega featured in the film, all in suggestive half-nude poses, her legs spread open just enough to be sexy without being outright explicit right there on the back cover. Eddie has no idea where Richie gets his hands on this kind of stuff—the only porn available in Derry are magazines, as far as he knows (not that he’d even really know, because he wouldn’t risk bringing anything risky into his home, not even into his own bedroom, because his door has never had a lock).

“You guys were just going to sit here and jerk off?” Eddie asks dubiously.

The tips of Richie’s ears go red. “Yeah, that was kind of the idea,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

There is a sort of divide here. Only one year ago, at the tender age of sixteen, Eddie is the last of them all to present, and when he does, it’s with a heat that knocks him out for a week and then leaves him leaking pheromones like a broken fucking faucet, a billboard for all the Alphas nearby practically shouting, _fresh meat, come get it!_

It’s not so much that Omegas are rare so much as _male_ Omegas. Eddie becomes part of the .045% of the population with that biology, and the town of Derry erupts into gossip overnight about neurotic Sonia Kaspbrak’s little Omega son with the big mouth and soft brown eyes on his small freckled face.

There are only two other male Omegas in the entirety of Derry High School, and days after Eddie returns to school smelling like he’d been run train on by the whole football team, he thinks about maybe trying to make friends with them until he spots one in the school hallway, belly swollen with pregnancy, and loses his courage (as well as his lunch, gagging it up in the second floor handicap bathroom until he’d had to call Ben and asked him to bring an extra sweater for him from his locker because he’d gotten bile on his).

Beverly, Bill, Mike, and to Eddie’s great envy and little surprise, Richie, all present as Alphas one by one, like the first reaction had triggered the others, their first year of high school. The summer after freshman year, Ben presents Beta, and the next year, Stan does as well.

And for a year, Eddie’s alone in being unpresented as everyone at school gets their secondary gender. He spends that year equally fearful and excited about his presentation, sure that he’s going to be a Beta like his parents, until one early autumn evening when he’d been seated in the Denbrough’s basement between Stanley and Richie and they’d both started leaning into him throughout the movie, unconsciously, hands possessive over Eddie’s thighs and the nape of his neck, until Eddie had to excuse himself to the bathroom before he ruined his underwear with slick.

He’d presented right then and there in the Denbrough’s basement bathroom, panic closing his throat as the world had tilted dizzily with arousal, the scent of Stan and Richie all over him, rubbed into his skin, into his very being.

Richie had started giving him clothes, at some point, right around when the other Alphas around town had started paying Eddie more attention—and not the good kind. It’s an unspoken thing between them; that half the town thinks they’re _together_ , and that they’re both kind of okay with letting them believe that. If he shrugs Richie’s sweatshirt over his shoulders before they go out, lets Richie’s scent layer over his own, a soothing, delicious thing that reminds Eddie of lazy golden afternoons spent in hammocks and in the woods, then he won’t get hit on or attract any unwanted attention.

But the divide is there nonetheless. Richie and Bill are Alphas, and they can do normal teenage horny things like watching porn together, and Eddie is simply _different_ now. Other.

Or at least, he feels like it sometimes.

As he stares down at the porno held fast between his fingers, so tight that his knuckles are stark white, he feels it more than ever.

“We could just watch it,” Richie offers finally, a weak attempt at peacemaking. “I’m sure Big Bill won’t mind.”

He wonders briefly if Richie would have made him the offer last night, the same time he’d made it to Bill, if Eddie were anything other than an Omega. It’s not that Richie means to exclude him or make him feel bad—quite the opposite, really. Richie’s smart in a way most people in Derry aren’t, and the way he’s treated Eddie has never changed, not really. He never makes a big deal about Eddie rooting through his closets at least once or twice a month, taking a couple articles of clothing and returning the previous month’s, now drenched in the warm scent of Omega. Richie knows that it embarrasses him, not in the teasing way they banter with each other, but in an internal shameful way, and so he stays silent about it, sliding his arm over Eddie’s shoulders and tucking him into his side when they pass large groups of Alphas in the hall at school, a territorial gesture. At least Richie’s _trying_ to make this normal.

Richie bites his lip now and looks at him hesitantly, unsure if Eddie’s actually hurt or not. He’s not.

"Put it on,” Eddie says finally, and the set of Richie’s shoulders relax greatly.

While Richie takes the tape and goes to play it, Eddie curls his knees to his chest, sitting on the rug by Richie’s bed, and when the tape’s started, Richie joins him there, his long limbs folding together as he sits, back against the edge of his bed.

“You ever see one before?” Richie asks suddenly.

Eddie glances at him quickly before he returns his gaze to the screen, watching some 18+ warning flash before the video starts.

“Not in video,” Eddie says, quiet.

The Omega from the cover jacket appears on screen, her cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with desire, and Eddie blinks, recognizing the gazed expression.

“Heat porn,” he says weakly. “This is heat porn.”

Richie’s cheeks warm and he turns marginally towards Eddie, half his attention still on the way the Omega shyly bares her neck for the camera, a submissive gesture. “Most of it is.” He doesn’t sound defensive; only informative.

The Alpha’s in the frame now, his mouth pressed to the nape of the Omega’s neck, and the Omega makes a soft, desperate noise in her throat, arching against him. Eddie knows the feeling. The Losers scent him often, though in a much less intimate and more platonic way, dragging their wrists against Eddie’s, fingers dancing at the top of his spine right above the collar of his shirt, until he’s covered with it, a protective thing that make Eddie’s legs weak as the warmth of safety washes over him when they do it. Richie’s done it tons of times, sneaking up behind him and blowing cool air across where his scent glands lay under his skin, laughing without a trace of apology when Eddie shrieks and startles at the feeling, only soothingly slicking his wrist across the sensitive skin a moment later to placate him.

“ _Alpha_ ,” the Omega cries, and Eddie raises an eyebrow at Richie.

Richie doesn’t even glance at him. “Some people like it better than when they use names. Feels broader and more applicable. Although,” he adds with a little goofy smile that turns his angular face much more ridiculous, “I prefer just calling her Sonia, when I’m hitting it from the back.”

Eddie makes a face and reaches out, shoves Richie because it’s the only thing you can do when Richie says something so vulgar, and Richie actually moves with the push, turning towards him more.

For another minute, there’s silence as Eddie watches the stupid porno. The Alpha tears the slinky scrap of a shirt she’s got on with his hands, splitting it cleanly to reveal small, perky breasts. Eddie worries absently at his lip. He sidles a glance over to Richie and finds him palming his dick through his pants, and he registers with faint surprise that Richie’s hard.

It’s fine. It’s not like Eddie didn’t expect him to be, considering the activity, and it’s not like Richie didn’t smell Eddie’s own desire on him back in the Denbrough’s basement, or any other time they’ve gotten remotely too close, really, because Eddie’s hormones shoot off like rockets around Richie.

“Cute tits,” Richie says, and when Eddie glances at him, he’s sporting a secretive little smirk. “Stan’s into that.”

Even _Stan_ has watched porn with Richie? Eddie tries not to feel hurt and curls his knees closer to his chest. Maybe he needs to loosen up.

Richie straightens all of a sudden, sitting up closer to him, and their thighs brush. Eddie jolts a little, and Richie laughs, though the noise is nervous. “You feelin’ a little jumpy, Eds?”

Eddie shakes his head silently, looks back to the screen where the Alpha leans down to mouth at her nipples, and he can’t help but wonder if it hurts, when he bites down roughly and the camera focuses on the reddened, swollen skin. He resists the urge to cross his arms across his chest—his own body gets so oversensitive during his heats that it would probably make him cry for hours, if Richie—

If Richie.

He blinks. _If Richie what?_ Used his soft, lithe tongue to tease Eddie’s nipples in the midst of his heat? He’d really go crazy, there’s no doubt about it. It sends a stirring of desire through his hips, and Eddie tucks his lip between his teeth, carefully pushing down the waist of his shorts to free his dick. Richie had done the same a couple minutes ago, though Eddie only sees the movement in his peripherals.

In the video, the Alpha begins kissing a long, wet trail down the middle of her chest, between her soft, heaving breasts, all the way to the mouth of her pussy, shoving her legs open and flipping her abruptly. The Omega gasps, and Eddie’s heart leaps to his throat with the noise, keeps pounding hard as the Alpha licks into her unceremoniously, all the way from her clit to the tight pucker of her ass.

He can’t help but sneak a glance over at Richie, quickly taking in the sharp, high cut of his cheekbones and jaw, the dark feathery spread of his eyelashes, the soft pink swell of his lip, glossy when he wets it absently with his tongue.

His eyes fall to Richie’s dick as if drawn by a magnet, and he nearly gasps aloud, warmth tipping into him, filling the pit of his stomach as he watches Richie’s long, elegant fingers lazily tug his own cock, not with the intention of getting off just yet, drawing it out for himself. Eddie can’t stop staring at the thick, curved length of his dick, the ropy veins standing out on it, so different from the smaller, pinker one between his own thighs. He hasn’t seen Richie’s dick in a while, if he thinks back on it. He’d seen it in passing over the years, of course, but not recently, and definitely not since he’d presented.

Would Richie try, if he asked? Would he pull Eddie’s thin legs apart and spread him open like the Alpha in the video, lapping over the pink, swollen entrance between his legs with a single-minded focus, his grip on the Omega’s hips rough when he drags her back and licks into her insistently, and she moans, loud and exaggerated as he fucks her on his tongue. Eddie shivers helplessly.

It’s an intrusive furtive kind of thought; Richie between his legs with his heavy-lidded grey eyes and soft mouth. He can’t imagine him being so rough, not when every time Richie’s scented him has been oddly and uncharacteristically gentle. No, Eddie thinks as he slips further into the fantasy, eyes stuck on the way the Alpha’s jaw moves when he eats the Omega out, Richie would definitely be more careful with him, especially because it would be their first time. He can be as coarse and indelicate as he wants, but Eddie has a hard time believing he wouldn’t be attentive.

His mind conjures the image immediately, replacing the squarer jaw of the Alpha on the screen with Richie’s sharp, fine features instead, his long lashes in profile, and thinks of Richie’s long fingers holding him open, tender when he licks into Eddie’s pink, twitching hole.

Eddie makes a soft, embarrassed noise before he can help it, a whimper that makes Richie stiffen instantly, his shoulders going rigid. He throws a cautious look towards Eddie, his eyes large and solemn behind the thick frames of his glasses. “You like this part?” he asks, jerking his chin towards the scene.

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek raw and tries to force himself to slow down, stilling his hand on his dick. Richie’s looking at him expectantly, so he nods slowly, eyes anywhere but on Richie. “Yeah,” he admits shyly, “I like this part.”

“Have you—” Richie stops, his voice raspy, clears his throat and tries again. “Have you ever thought about it?”

His eyes flicker down towards Eddie’s lap, even though there’s no way he can see anything but Eddie’s cock, the elastic waistband of his underwear pulled down under it, red and shining with precum against the navy of his shorts.

Eddie’s cheeks warm. He tries not to let his legs bow in like his instincts beg them to, hiding himself away from Richie’s prying eyes. Of course, he’s thought about it. He’s _been_ thinking about it, and when he shifts his hips minutely, there’s the proof, slick starting to seep into his underwear. He knows the instant Richie notices, his nostrils flaring at the scent.

“Oh,” Richie says faintly, his question answered.

Eddie breathes shallow and ragged. _If Richie_.

“Have you?” he asks, soft and tremulous. Richie’s still staring at him, not at his dick anymore, but his eyes again, and somehow that’s even more embarrassing, knowing that Richie can read the expressions off his face.

Richie levels him with a look that Eddie can’t discern. “Been asked once or twice,” he says, and Eddie—

Eddie’s body twitches in betraying arousal, his hips fucking forward helplessly into his fist. The words echo in his mind, a stain that spreads like wine on white sheets, and he can’t help but make a wounded noise in his throat.

“I’ve never said yes,” Richie admits lowly, and suddenly there’s a scorching, sinewy hand on his thigh. He licks his lip nervously, and Eddie follows the movement closely, eyes on his pink, glistening tongue.

He’s waiting for Eddie to ask. They’re pressed together thigh to thigh, Richie’s hand around his dick only inches away from his own, and he’s _waiting for Eddie to ask_.

A beat too late, Eddie’s brain reboots and he stammers out, “I-I just—”

Too late. Richie’s mouth flattens into a thin line when he presses his lips together and starts to turn away, taking his hesitance as dissent. “No, wait!” Eddie says, his voice rising in alarm, “I… I want to. If you—if you’re really offering.”

He practically sees the gears turning in Richie’s head as he considers this. That Eddie is even capable of want—that Eddie is capable of wanting _him_. If only Richie knew the half of it.

“Okay,” Richie says, and it’s too loud, too awkward in the silence of the house, punctuated only by the Omega on the TV cumming for the first time on the Alpha’s tongue, swiveling her full hips back against his face and there is absolutely no way Eddie is okay with doing anything even remotely similar. His face burns as Richie tells him, “The bed, we should use the bed.”

He wonders how Richie’s staying so calm, his face clean of expression, and contemplates asking until he scrambles up onto the bed and Richie follows, awkward and unsure in his movements. It’s made even gawkier by his ridiculous height and thinness, and when he settles across from Eddie, knees folded under him, Eddie finds his tells easily this time. Richie’s nerves don’t show on his face the same way his do, but they can be found nonetheless in the slight trembling of his hands and the unsure way he steeples his fingers together and puts them in his lap.

It’s almost kind of sweet. He feels his own apprehension retreat at the sight, and finds it in him to sit back against Richie’s pillows, his dick still out of his shorts and in his hand. He glances over his shoulder to the screen and finds the Omega writhing on two of the Alpha’s fingers, the soft, wet squelch of his brutal pace accentuated by the high stuttering moans falling past her swollen mouth.

“You’re not going to…” Eddie gestures to the TV. “Are you?

Richie looks at him a little shyly. “’Course not,” he murmurs, “I’ll be careful with you, Eds.”

And if _that_ doesn’t just settle into every inch and crevice of his bones, a warmth that glows and fills him so overwhelmingly that he has to stifle a tiny sob that crawls up his throat unwittingly. The next breath he takes shudders out of him, and he nods quickly up at the ceiling fan, spinning idly above them.

He lets his legs fall open, staring down at his own thigh, not yet able to look Richie in the face. He feels the bed shift as Richie crawls forward between his legs, and then the warmth of Richie’s body is radiating right there in his space, his chest inches from Eddie’s face, and he dares to finally tilt his face back, peeking up at him through his eyelashes.

Richie’s looking at him. Richie’s looking _right_ at him, so close that he could crane his neck a bit and brush their noses together, his eyes stormy and dark, glasses discarded sometime when Eddie’s shy eyes had been averted. It’s too much and desperately not enough all at once, a great and terrible nameless need rising within him.

“Do you wanna,” Richie asks, and he doesn’t even have to finish before Eddie sits up straighter and kisses him full on the mouth.

It’s a slow, heady kind of kiss, his mouth molding to Richie’s soft lips again and again, until Richie takes his jaw gently in his broad palm and coaxes his mouth open, and suddenly Richie’s tongue is in his _mouth_ , slick and warm and Eddie moans, a surprised noise that gets muffled around Richie’s kisses.

When Richie pulls away, Eddie looks at the glistening swell of his lower lip and thinks dizzily, _I did that_.

He inhales deep and slow, and Richie’s scent fills him, surrounding him, in the sheets and the pillows and Richie himself, carefully pressing his hand to Eddie’s hip. He hooks a finger into Eddie’s shorts and looks at him, and when Eddie doesn’t stop him, he pulls them down Eddie’s lean thighs and off.

Eddie’s thighs squeeze together instinctively before he takes a couple deep breathes and lets them fall open again, cheeks burning and heart thudding hard in his chest.

Richie makes a soft, helpless noise, and surges forward, and Eddie yelps in surprise when Richie winds his arms around his waist and holds fast, pressing his face to Eddie’s chest. He can feel the sharp edge of Richie’s cheekbone against his sternum, and after a hesitant moment of Richie doing nothing but feeling the warmth of Eddie’s body against his, Eddie curls an arm over his side, stroking his palm down the heat of Richie’s back through his shirt. Richie releases a quivering breath against his chest and looks up at him, a complicated, intense expression in his eyes that makes Eddie feel shy all over again.

“Stop staring, you weirdo,” Eddie says softly, because it’s the easiest thing to say that will not open the pandora’s box of thoughts about Richie he’s got tucked away in his mind.

And then, abrupt in the silence of the room, the Omega in the porn moans, the first true sound of arousal Eddie actually buys as genuine, as the Alpha eases his (monstrous, huge, very different than Richie’s, Eddie is thankful to note) dick into her, and the sound makes Richie exhale hard, hiding his face against Eddie’s ribcage for a moment before he sits back on his knees and seems to gather himself as best he can.

Richie spreads his thighs with warm careful palms, touching his inner thighs higher up than anyone else ever has, the heat of his skin bleeding into Eddie’s, and he stifles the whimper that threatens to rip from his mouth when Richie pushes them open, feeling the slick smeared between his legs cooling in the air of the room.

His body clenches instinctively and Richie swallows hard, eyes trained on the movement, and Eddie feels so _vulnerable_ , laid out and bare like this, trusting Richie with parts of him yet unknown by anyone else.

But he does trust Richie, and he always has. When Richie drags his eyes away from Eddie’s slick, puffy hole and settles his gaze on his face instead, even with lust darkening his eyes, his hands are cautious as he strokes a palm up and down Eddie’s leg and says, “Can I?”

Eddie doesn’t hesitate to nod this time, and Richie looks up contemplatively, then tugs at the hem of his shirt. “Take this off,” he says.

“But then I’ll be naked and you won’t be!” Eddie objects, flushing in embarrassment.

Richie looks like he wants to protest, but then he thinks better of it and starts tugging his shirt up the long narrow length of his torso and says, “Then I’ll just have to get even,” with a very Richie sort of smile.

Richie works off his pants and underwear while Eddie shucks his shirt, and when Richie tosses them on the floor, Eddie’s too distracted by the fact that Richie is sitting in front of him _naked_ to even yell at him about it.

He realizes suddenly how big Richie’s really gotten recently—everyone laughs about how lanky and tall Richie’s gotten, but his shitty posture usually downplays it to a certain extent. Now, when Eddie can see every inch of Richie’s long, lean legs and slender hips, the broadness of his shoulders and his biceps finally filled out, he becomes acutely aware of just how much bigger than him Richie is.

It makes him… not self-conscious exactly, but something tangentially similar, a nervous thrumming in the pit of his belly that only intensifies as Richie lowers himself between Eddie’s legs, pressing a sloppy kiss to the inside of his knee, nuzzling into the soft vulnerable inside of his thigh, leaving heat in his wake wherever their skin makes contact.

He flinches instinctively at the feeling of Richie’s breath against the tight, pink pucker of his ass, and clenches around nothing at all. He bites his lip hard and closes his eyes, body tense when Richie brushes a kiss over his rim, smearing slick over his mouth.

He should be embarrassed by how much he’s leaking slick, darkening the sheets under his hips, but the thought is a distant one, his mind too preoccupied by Richie’s mouth between his legs, kitten-licking across his sensitive, twitching hole, and when Richie flattens his tongue and truly laps over him, Eddie moans and jerks his hips away, tears flooding to his eyes.

He doesn’t know why—it’s never happened while he’s jerking off, but the intensity of watching Richie eating him out, his long fingers carefully holding Eddie’s ass spread open, his tongue glistening as he uses the tip to trace Eddie’s rim, makes him have to blink until the tears vacate his lashes and spill down the soft curve of his cheek.

It’s too intimate. Richie’s watching him closely, and he drags one hand up, pressing it to Eddie’s soft, pale belly as he tongues into him for the first time, and Eddie arches, gasps, “ _Richie!_ ” in a highly scandalized voice. Despite his outcry, Richie doesn’t pull away or stop fucking his tongue into him in a slow approximation of what a baser part of Eddie’s mind can’t help but wish he would do with his cock.

Eddie tries his hardest not to cum on the spot as Richie grinds his thumb in circles over his hole, intermittently switching out with his tongue, until Eddie’s slick is smeared across his chin, against the sharp edge of his jaw, his wide, swollen mouth when he licks his lips and looks up at Eddie, pupils blown with arousal.

Richie’s good with his mouth in a way Eddie hadn’t expected; his tongue’s lithe, he works his jaw as much as Eddie needs him to, and his hands are constantly busy, soothingly sweeping warm palms up his thighs in a way that makes goosebumps break out along his upper arms, and for a minute, he’d even reached down and tangled their fingers together loosely, holding Eddie’s hand and rimming him open tenderly, and it’s nearly too much for Eddie to handle, his cock slick with precum on his belly, his hips twitching weakly against Richie’s tongue.

He rolls his head to the side, overwhelmed, and suddenly his eyes fall on the TV again, half-watching the porno. The Omega’s reclining back like he is, her legs folded over the Alpha’s shoulders as he fucks into her at a brutal pace, his knot stretching her pussy open, and Eddie can’t help but think about Richie’s cock, the long flushed girth of it between his long fingers, and his sloppy, wet hole pulses out another wave of slick, hot against Richie’s tongue as he makes a little startled noise in reaction but takes it in stride, sliding his tongue through the mess.

“Eds,” he pants after a minute, “can I use my—my fingers?”

Eddie sobs out a quiet, “ _uh huh_ ,” nodding a couple times, and suddenly Richie’s pressing a slick finger into him, his body clamping tight on the intrusion. Richie goes so _slow_ , making him feel every centimeter down to the first knuckle, and he hisses lowly, “Shit, Eddie, you’re so fucking wet, oh my god.”

Eddie whimpers in embarrassment, tries to clamp his hands over his hot cheeks, but Richie catches his wrist with his free hand, pushes it away, and says in a much softer voice, “No, no, don’t hide, I—” he blushes abruptly and finishes, his eyes on the way Eddie’s pink, tight rim practically sucks his finger deeper, “I like seeing you.”

That only makes Eddie want to cover his face _more_ , but Richie’s being sincere, and he deserves the same reciprocated, so Eddie reluctantly drags his hands down from his cheeks and lets them settle on his lower sternum.

“Is it okay?” Richie asks, and nudges his finger a little deeper. It certainly doesn’t hurt when Eddie’s this wet, if that’s what he’s asking. In fact, Eddie’s wondering if it would be impolite to ask for him to slide in his ring finger beside the middle and use both.

He shifts down marginally, pushing the digit further into the tight heat of his body, and then Richie’s pressing in the second, like he’d read Eddie’s mind.

This time the stretch makes syrupy sweet pleasure drip down his spine, so fucking good when he rolls his hips down and rides Richie’s fingers, and Richie’s eyes go wide as he watches Eddie fuck himself down on his long fingers, the sleek friction of the rigid digits against Eddie’s velvety walls just short of unbearable.

“Eds?” Richie asks again, and Eddie remembers that he’s been asked a question.

“S-So good, Rich, i-it feels so fucking good,” he whines, and before the fear of embarrassment can convince him not to, he wraps his arms around Richie’s broad shoulders like he’s been dying to do, tangling his fingers in Richie’s dark curls, and they’re soft, silky and ticklish across his knuckles.

“You sound like Bill, stuttering like that, baby,” Richie grins, and punctuates it with a couple lazy thrusts that make Eddie moan helplessly, his hips working down to meet each twitch of Richie’s fingers.

Eddie wishes he had the willpower to be offended at that, but Richie’s crooking his fingers insistently against the sweetest spot inside him now, and it’s sending shivery ripples of pleasure through his body, his voice hitching over the words when he stammers, “Oh, oh god, _wait_ , I wanted to—to cum while you’re inside me.”

Richie freezes above him, his eyes going wide, and he instantly looks down at his dick, still hard and pressed against the inside of Eddie’s thigh. There’s precum shining on Eddie’s freckled thigh, smeared there by his glistening cockhead, and Eddie thinks if he could just get a hand around the thick base of it, ease the head against his sloppy swollen hole and just let it swallow Richie, inch by inch.

He could do it too, his body aching for more around Richie’s two fingers, loosening easier here under Richie’s gentle hands than he ever could in the tense atmosphere of his own home, where he can’t relax no matter how hard he tries unless he knows for a fact that his mother is not home.

Slowly, Richie withdraws his fingers, and Eddie tries not to whine at the loss as another fresh stream of warm slick pulses over the line of his ass without Richie’s finger to catch it and fuck it back into him.

Eddie looks up at him with wide, dazed eyes and asks in a small voice, “Do you not want to?”

Richie looks devastated that Eddie would even make such a claim, his eyes widening in conviction. “ _No_ ,” he says roughly, “I want to, Eds, trust me when I say I fucking want to.”

But then Eddie watches as his face crumples into a much more cautious expression. “Are you sure we should, though? I mean, we don’t even have any condoms, and I’m pretty sure my dad got a vasectomy like, three years into raising me and realizing what a handful I was, so there’s no way there’s any in their room.”

“Okay, first of all,” Eddie says, because Richie’s rambling is oddly helping to focus his mind away from the lust that clouds it, “Gross, I didn’t want to know that about your dad. And second, you think my mom would even let the risk of pregnancy hang over my head? She got me on pills literally a week after I presented.”

“A week,” Richie whispers, and presses a hand to Eddie’s belly, flat. His palm is scorching against his skin, protective when he leans down and brushes a kiss against Eddie’s mouth. “Shit, Eddie, those didn’t fuck you up so early into your presentation?”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, feeling the slippery slick drying tacky between his thighs. He winces at the feeling and wonders how to answer without making Richie freak out.

“The first couple heats were rough,” he admits finally. That had been before Richie’d started loaning him clothes too, and the pills had stopped him from being fertile, sure, but they’d made his hormones go crazy, intensifying his first couple heats as he’d gotten adjusted, making him leak pheromones dangerously strong, and he’d been jeered at by Alphas in the weeks following his first three heats, propositioned and slut-shamed for simply existing. “But it’s handy right now, isn’t it?”

Richie’s mouth twists like he’s gearing up to say something wild, something that’s either going to make Eddie want to kick his ass so fucking bad or cry again, but he bites his tongue at the last second and says calmly, “Yeah, Eds, it’s handy now.”

“But,” he adds softly, and rubs his hand in a wide, slow circle on Eddie’s lower belly, “I want you to be safe.”

Eddie shivers uncontrollably as the words melt into the pit of his belly and settle there, warm. He blinks against his suddenly-blurring vision, arches up against Richie’s hand and whispers, “You make me feel safe, you idiot.”

Richie chuckles at that, a breathless, elated noise that makes Eddie’s heart sing, and then he shifts forward and catches himself on an elbow, caging Eddie against the bed.

“Yeah?” Richie asks, cradling Eddie’s cheek in his free hand, his voice gone quiet with affection. Eddie wraps a leg around his waist, and the blunt, thick head of Richie’s cock brushes over his pink, swollen entrance, hot against him.

Eddie hums softly as Richie takes a hold of his cock and rubs the head back and forth over Eddie’s slick hole, and as he starts pushing in, the noise breaks in his throat into a keen as Richie pushes forward as slowly as he can.

It makes his legs shake where they’re snaked around Richie’s slender waist, his sharp hipbones digging into the soft, fleshy inside of Eddie’s thighs. His body’s started carrying fat differently, ever since he’d presented, weight sticking on his hips, though he’s always been boney, probably always will be compared to the full-figured curvy Omega in the porn that they’ve practically discarded.

Richie’s tense above him, only the wide head of his dick pressed past the tight ring of muscle, and even that’s enough to make Eddie quiver as it presses intrusively against his insides, forcing his ass open around the thick length, his rim stretched pink and taut and slick against Richie’s shaft.

“So good,” Richie wheezes, half helpless, his eyes shining, “ _Eddie_ , you’re so good, so fucking tight for me,” and lets his hips slide forward, pressing his cock deeper into Eddie’s hole, and Eddie whimpers at the feeling of Richie’s hot, sleek cock dragging over the slick forward wall of his pelvis, sensitive with arousal.

Eddie wails when Richie angles up, grinding forward against that same spot, his eyes trained on the way Eddie’s brows steeple together above his dark eyes when he fucks him just right, his lips trembling when he mewls, “ _Richie_ , i-it feels so much, I-I feel so full,” and presses his hands to his flat belly, his eyes wet when he sobs, “In my stomach, you’re in my stomach, I can feel it!”

Richie drags a hand through his soft, dark hair and catches Eddie’s chin between his long fingers, jerking it gently to make him focus. “Look at me,” he says soft, even as the tendons stand out stark on his neck, his thighs shaking from restraint, “Eddie, _look at me_ , sweetheart.”

When Eddie turns shining eyes up at him, he smiles a little teasingly. “M’not that deep, Eds, you’re just really fucking tense.”

He splays his fingers out over Eddie’s stomach again, this time bracketing his cock, hard and flushed and badly in need of attention, and sheathes it between his elegant fingers. “Just calm down,” he murmurs, jerking Eddie’s dick lazily, “let me take care of you,” and then ducks down to press their mouths together sloppily in deep, warm kisses that make Eddie go pliant against the mattress in a matter of minutes, his body gradually shedding the tension.

He rolls his hips at the same slow pace as his hand, stroking Eddie’s cock at nearly the same rhythm, and suddenly Eddie’s world is golden-tinged and warm with pleasure, Richie’s cock sliding into him at just the right angle to nudge his prostate as he fucks deep into him, and Eddie starts rocking his hips down to meet every deep, steady thrust, his cock swollen and leaking in Richie’s fist.

The inside of his head goes hazy with it, until nothing matters but the insistent throb of desire within his stomach, the way Richie’s big cock curves inside him, hot like a fucking brand, stretching his hole nearly to its limits, and when Richie croons to him in a voice so soft that it makes Eddie want to sob and folds himself into his Alpha’s chest, to just let Richie baby him, “you gonna cum on my cock like a good little Omega, Eds? Are you going to take my knot in your pussy like a good boy?”

Eddie nods frantically, and though in any other context he’d shove Richie and tell him to shut up, now he only clings onto Richie’s newly broad shoulders and cries, “I wanna cum, I wanna cum on your knot, Alpha, please, _please_ ,” until Richie holds his hips against the bed and starts properly fucking him up the bed, dragging a startled moan from his mouth with every hard thrust of his hips, pulling Eddie down onto his cock until his hips hit Eddie’s ass.

He holds onto Eddie’s hips and grinds against him, so fucking deep as he jerks Eddie’s cock, and Eddie’s crying freely now, oversensitive tears shining on his freckled face, and when Richie kisses the soft curve of one cheek, it feels like kissing the skin of an overripe peach, his teeth aching with the urge to _bite_ , not the lingering remains of Eddie’s baby-fat but the throbbing scent gland at the nape of his neck that spills Eddie’s sweet, addicting raw scent all over his room, into his _territory_ , like Eddie belongs there.

“Gonna fill you up,” Richie promises between lingering kisses to Eddie’s swollen bottom lip, “Shit, Eds, wanna fucking mark you so fucking bad, it’s like if I don’t bite something right now, I’m going to go crazy.”

Eddie whines shamelessly at the thought as it barrels into his mind, and suddenly all he can think of is how hot Richie’s cum would feel filling him, over and over until his knot goes down while Richie’s teeth break skin over his scent glands.

That thought is the one that finally pushes him over the edge, and his orgasm washes over him slow, making him shake and cry against Richie’s fat cock as his own dick pools thin, sticky cum against his stomach with every hard snap of Richie’s hips against his own, his body clenching tightly. His hips arch up off the bed, fucking down onto Richie’s cock as hard as he can, and Richie moans at the feeling, holding Eddie tighter by the hips, thrusting up in a series of short bursts that have Eddie whimpering as it overstimulates him through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

Afterwards, Richie strokes his hip languidly with warm fingers, cooing about how good he is as Eddie breathes raggedly, trying to calm the rapid pace of his pulse.

His dick’s still hard. He’s just cum and _his dick is still hard_.

It’s only happened during his heat before, when the first three orgasms, brought along only by his fingers, don’t do shit and he needs to go grab the slender, sensible penetrative toy he’d carefully hidden in an old shoebox in the back of his closet where even his mother wouldn’t find it. He’s usually still hard despite having cum so many times by the time he gets around to grabbing the toy, turning on the vibrating function and fucking himself down on it, red-faced, half ashamed and half too gone to care.

And then Richie’s knot starts to swell.

He makes a panicked noise automatically, reaching up for Richie, who gathers him carefully into his lanky arms and asks breathlessly, “do you want me to pull out? I can pull out if you want.”

“No,” Eddie says instantly, “no, don’t you _dare_ ,” and crosses his ankles over the small of Richie’s back, pulling his thin, boney frame closer.

He tangles his fingers into Richie’s curls and pulls him down for a kiss, tugging at his scalp gently, and Richie moans against his mouth, his hips stuttering against Eddie’s. His ass feels oversensitive and raw after cumming, but Richie makes a helpless noise in his throat as Eddie shifts his hips, and Eddie does it again and again, fucking down against his knot until Richie’s the one starting to shake in his arms instead.

Richie’s mouth is trembling, he can feel it against his own, and Eddie’s tears are flowing freely down his cheeks, his thighs shaking from overexertion. He’s never been so full, so stretched out and tightly wound. He feels like he could break at any moment, like he wouldn’t even mind. It’s an overwhelming, all-encompassing feeling, and Eddie rubs a hand over his stomach, finds himself jutting out just a tiny bit, almost imperceptibly, as Richie’s knot presses to his insides. 

“Eds,” Richie chokes out in warning as Eddie strokes his fingers over the tiny bulge in his stomach, mystified and overwhelmed. “ _Eddie—_ “

Richie’s knot breaks as he moans Eddie’s name, helpless and pleading, for what, Eddie’s not even sure. He keens softly as he feels the warmth of Richie’s cum fill him up, hot and thick inside him. Richie’s hips move against him desperately, jerking as he cums, panting harshly as Eddie holds him tightly, strokes his fingers aimlessly through the soft halo of dark curls framing his face, getting just a little too long.

Eddie’s fingers card through his hair and then resort to stroking over his face, tracing the sharp bones under his pale skin, and he can’t help but wonder how _Richie_ of all people got such a bone structure, beautiful enough to be crafted by the compassionate, devotional hands of the most famous Classical sculptors.

Richie’s wide, soft mouth curls into a smile against his fingertips, and it’s breathtaking.

“Look,” Richie says with a chuckle, pointing over Eddie’s shoulder across the room. He follows Richie’s long index finger to the TV, where the porn is reaching its end, credits flying across the screen. “Good timing.”

Eddie laughs so hard that Richie slips out, and then Richie’s laughing too, holding him closer and quaking with it, an unburdened, glorious sort of sound that Eddie thinks he could hear forever.


	14. Size Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he’d been younger, he’d let himself indulge in this kind of fantasy very rarely; that maybe the Losers wouldn’t care if they knew how long he’d been harboring these deep, secretive feelings for Richie, or that Richie wouldn’t hate him if he found out. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined it in this scale though, with the ones he loves happy and flushed with drink around him, in the safety of a home he’s created with Richie.
> 
> He looks down at his slender fingers, his eyes falling on the familiar sheen of his wedding band, a plain silver thing that Richie wears identically, and has to take another sip of wine when his throat goes tight with emotion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: posts no porn chapter for kinktober

“So, how fancy am I supposed to dress for this again?” Beverly asks dryly, twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers, the small amount of Merlot at the bottom spinning in a miniature dark whirlpool.

Eddie glances over from where he’s folded into his favorite armchair by the fireplace, though it’s not in use right now, and gives her a once-over. She’s wearing a neat pair of loose beige culottes and a white satiny blouse, making the auburn of her hair stand out like a flame against the neutral tones, and as usual, she would look absolutely perfect even wearing Richie’s gaudiest print button-down (though Eddie’s very glad she’s not).

“You don’t even have to try tomorrow,” Eddie tells her, and then jerks his thumb over towards Richie by the kitchen bar, “just look at how he dresses, and it’s his fucking show.”

Richie looks up as if summoned, although Eddie knows that from all the way across the kitchen and living room, with the chatter of five other people filling their home, there’s no way he could’ve heard. He’d clad in a black shirt with little red cherries printed all over it, unbuttoned just a little too much down his chest, a soft flush over his cheeks from drinking and laughing with Mike at Stanley and Bill as they bicker over the superiority of red versus white wine.

It’s an annoyingly good look on him, his eyes sparkling when he shoves at Stanley’s shoulder gently, and suddenly it’s like watching Richie and Stan as teens again, squabbling over whichever topic they’ve settled on for the day, stubborn and both refusing to fold.

They all get like this around each other when they haven’t gathered in a while—giddy and eager, regressing in some ways to how they’d acted as teens, laughing and shooting the shit and drinking way too late into the night, Eddie still curled up like a cat in his armchair, Bill and Mike settling next to each other on the couch, pressed together from hip to shoulder, Ben playing with Bev’s hair when she puts her head in his lap, and Stanley making sure no one passes out or throws up on Richie’s expensive Persian rug (not that he’d ever properly cleaned the damn thing in the fifteen years he’d had it before Eddie moved in).

It’s been too long since they’ve all been together, Eddie thinks idly as he takes a sip of his own drink, and Richie grabs the whole bottle of wine and finally joins them in the living room, automatically making a beeline for Eddie.

He stands expectantly in front of the chair and Eddie looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Richie takes a sip of wine right out of the bottle and then says, “that’s my favorite seat.”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie reminds him, “your favorite seat is the corner seat of the couch because you say it makes you feel safe.”

Bill muffles a snort of laugher at that, and Richie turns around, pointing an accusatory finger towards him. “Don’t let me hear that from Big Bill who slept with his fucking stuffed elephant till he was in high school.”

Bill has the dignity to try and look properly chastised at that, but it ruins the effect a moment later when he tips his head against Ben’s shoulder and giggles until his face turns red.

Richie turns back to him then, and when Eddie takes another slow sip of wine instead of moving, Richie gives an exasperated huff and reaches down for him.

He shrieks when Richie’s hands wrap around his hips, kicking his legs out instinctively to shove him away, but Richie’s already holding onto him too firmly, easily manhandling him, and Eddie finds himself half sprawled across Richie’s lap, his back against the armrest of the chair.

“Fuck you,” he says, but there’s no venom behind it. In fact, his cheeks redden fractionally as Richie curls an arm around his shoulders, and he goes willingly, tucking himself into Richie’s side.

“Imagine how many arguments you guys could’ve solved when we were younger if Richie had just done that,” Stan comments, and Mike laughs in agreement.

When he’d been younger, he’d let himself indulge in this kind of fantasy very rarely; that maybe the Losers wouldn’t care if they knew how long he’d been harboring these deep, secretive feelings for Richie, or that Richie wouldn’t hate him if he found out. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined it in this scale though, with the ones he loves happy and flushed with drink around him, in the safety of a home he’s created with Richie.

He looks down at his slender fingers, his eyes falling on the familiar sheen of his wedding band, a plain silver thing that Richie wears identically, and has to take another sip of wine when his throat goes tight with emotion.

As the evening wears on, Richie pours the rest of the bottle into Eddie’s cup and drinks from that instead, taking turns passing it back and forth with Eddie as the topic of conversation shifts from Audra’s new movie to Beverly and Ben’s traveling plans to Richie’s show the following day, the reason for which they have all gathered.

The offer had come only a couple weeks ago, and it’s only after Richie consults with Eddie over it and then signs the contract that they tell everyone that Richie’s gotten picked up for his own television show, and they’d all made plans to celebrate, setting aside a long weekend the following month for the occasion.

Eddie’s pleasantly sleepy from the wine and their late night, and when he reaches a lazy hand forward and curls his fingers into the front of Richie’s shirt, Richie’s hand on his back strokes up and down the line of his spine rhythmically, a warm, heavy presence that only lulls Eddie further into his drowsiness.

Stanley’s the first to get up, gathering Richie’s discarded empty wine bottle as well as the beer cans Bill and Mike have stacked precariously on the coffee table before he announces that it’s getting late and they should get to bed.

Eddie doesn’t have his watch on, but Richie does, so he reaches across the chair to the other armrest and tugs on his wrist until he gets a glimpse of the watch face and it declares the time as half past two.

Ben and Bev have the downstairs guest suite, and they’re the second ones to depart, two of Beverly’s fingers tucked into Ben’s belt loops, and thankfully, Bill and Mike get the hint and clear out as well, retreating to their room upstairs while Eddie more or less dozes in Richie’s lap.

Finally, when it’s only them remaining, Richie shifts under him and goes, “I know you’re freakishly small and could probably sleep here if you wanted, but some of us aren’t half goblin and need a real bed, Eds.”

Eddie hides his face in Richie’s shoulder, exhaling warm against the cotton of his shirt. “If I’m so small then why can’t you just carry me upstairs?”

He only asks because he knows he can, and after moment Richie says, barely accusatory and much too fondly, “you’re a spoiled one, Kaspbrak,” and sweeps him up into his arms effortlessly, the thick muscles in his biceps standing stark against his pale skin when he straightens, still holding Eddie around the waist, and Eddie quickly wraps his legs around Richie’s hips, clinging onto his shoulders as Richie starts the ascent to their bedroom.

“Imagine if Stan walked out right now and saw this,” Richie whispers when they pass the closed door to the guest room he’s inhabiting this weekend.

Eddie knows he must look ridiculous, a grown ass man being carried to bed, but he’s also astonishingly okay with letting Richie baby him as much as possible when he’s tipsy and giggly, muffling the noise into Richie’s chest as they finally make it to the double-doors of the master bedroom.

Richie doesn’t toss him onto the bed like he’d half expected, instead pulling the corner of the sheets back and placing him into the space before looking down at him, half leaning over him, an amused smile tugging at his mouth. “Eddie, you’re supposed to let go now.”

He blinks the haze from his eyes and looks up at Richie through the dim light of their room, only a single lamp lit in one corner of the room. It makes all the shadows stretch longer, turning Richie’s eyes a deep slate. Instead of letting go, he wrests Richie even closer, until Richie lurches forward with a gasp and catches himself on his hands and knees over Eddie before he can fall all the way.

“Imagine if Stan walked in and saw _this_ ,” Eddie jokes before he pulls Richie down and presses a sloppy kiss to the edge of his mouth. Richie goes down with a little _oof_ , and then his weight’s heavy and warm, draped over the length of Eddie’s body fully.

His blunt fingernails scritch over Richie’s scalp gently, again and again, tangled in his dark hair, and when Richie’s breath hitches, he feels it in the way their bodies are pressed together, a heave of movement in Richie’s broad chest. Eddie feels his eyes slip shut marginally in exhaustion, a ferocious wine-headache beginning to throb at his temple.

Richie makes a soft, content noise when Eddie’s fingers dance down to the nape of his neck instead to idly play with the collar of his shirt.

“You wanna have sex?” Eddie asks, though he has a vague suspicion he knows the answer already.

Richie hums thoughtfully against his sternum, the sound vibrating outwards through his chest. “Nah,” he decides, and seems more than satisfied to leave it there.


	15. Hybrid/Catboy AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has the date of Eddie’s heat marked on his calendar with a Hello Kitty sticker, which he thinks is hilarious and Eddie finds much less amusing.

Richie has the date of Eddie’s heat marked on his calendar with a Hello Kitty sticker, which he thinks is hilarious and Eddie finds much less amusing.

It hangs on the wall above his desk, much to Eddie’s slight horror, where Maggie has potentially come in to tidy up his room and _seen_ it, though Richie insists she wouldn’t even know what it means.

Eddie has it on his calendar too, but in much more neatly, with printed words and an orange highlight to make it stand out.

Sometimes Eddie wonders what would happen if his mom found out about Richie sneaking up the lattice up the side of the house to his bedroom window for his last five heats with a backpack full of his clothes for Eddie to keep while he goes to school the next day, though these days, reaching the end of senior year, Richie can be found more and more skipping class with Beverly to smoke in the woods behind Derry High School, much to both Maggie and Eddie’s chagrin.

Eddie’s got enough on his plate trying to deal with high school in town like Derry where most of the residents believe hybrids should be treated like sex toys as well as his mother’s tyrannical hold on his life, so he lets it slide, much to Richie’s delight.

Though, it’s not like Richie does any poorer in school for all those classes missed. Richie absorbs information like radiation from the universe, an endless wealth of knowledge that astounds the other Losers when Richie smugly holds up yet another semester’s worth of grades, all perfect.

The first day of Eddie’s heat falls on a Friday this month, miraculously, meaning he’ll only have to miss one day of school on Monday instead of the usual three—which honestly, wouldn’t even be much of a problem, but the teachers in Derry are _dicks_ who don’t give a fuck if Eddie’s biology makes him bedridden and ridiculously horny for half a week, so he and the other odd couple dozen hybrids play catch-up like nobody’s business.

The other Losers help when they can, sharing their notes and painstakingly taking the time to explain things to him so he doesn’t fail out in their last year, though 5/6 of them are human as well, and don’t get it, really.

There’s Stanley, whose fox ears peek around from either side of his yarmulke, his mom a vulpine hybrid and his dad a human, who understands only half of it. He gets the cute ears and the crafty fox’s smile and doesn’t have to deal with the hellscape that is a heat, and for that Eddie is eternally jealous.

Stanley has to deal with the other facets of being a hybrid though, which Eddie wouldn’t wish on anyone; the catcalling, the objectification, and the constant propositions, usually from men twice his age, which usually has his hackles rising in anxiety until Mike or Bill or Richie not-so-casually shoulder check whichever vile despicable man has decided to invite himself to pet Eddie’s ears without his permission.

Though he doesn’t mind it when his friends do the same, pulling him into their laps and stroking their fingers through the soft ears twitching idly at the top of his head until he’s limp and drowsy against them.

He glances around his room to the calendar again, looking at the date of his heat (tomorrow) and the sense of impending doom is back, though he’s sure it’s just all the hormones fluttering around inside him in anticipation. His pre-heats have never been terrible, but when he goes to bed shivering, unfolding his winter bedding even though it’s the middle of April, he finds himself thinking of the way Richie had pet his ears earlier in the day, in the bed of the old pickup truck his dad had given him that his mom swears is a deathtrap, seated in the weak spring sunshine in the woods as Ben and Bill recount some movie they’d seen the previous afternoon.

His thoughts drift here with an embarrassing frequency; to Richie’s long fingers tugging playfully at the tail that winds lazily around his wrist, Eddie’s head bedded on his thigh, his ears twitching as he listens to Bill talk. His heat-addled brain, specifically, likes fantasizing about Richie’s hands habitually as he writhes around on his own fingers and cries and shakes and waits for school to let out so Richie can sneak into his room and just fuck his goddamn brains out.

He’s not lost his mind just yet, tonight, so his thoughts don’t take a sharp dive into the explicit, and he falls asleep thinking about how much warmer he’d be if Richie were here.

-

He doesn’t even make it to the morning—sometime around 3 in the fucking morning, he wakes up drenched in his own sweat, his shirt clinging wetly to his back, an unquenchable fire rising deep in his belly. He presses a hand there, half conscious, still entangled in a strange dream that consists of Stanley digging a foxhole and trying to bury him alive, and he kicks off the thick blanket, whimpering low in his throat when the cool air of the room hits his sweaty skin.

He tosses and turns for a couple hours after that before the sun starts rising, sipping at the water he’d left on the nightstand until his underwear soaks through with slick, slow and warm and wet, and he grimaces. He hates this part the most. He’d changed the sheets on his bed the afternoon previous to ones designed especially for this, to protect his poor mattress from the onslaught of the weekend, but it makes him feel inherently gross nonetheless.

He braces himself for the next seven odd hours of jerking off and crying and feeling absolutely miserable when there’s a sharp noise against his window, so loud that it startles him up in bed.

He creeps to the window furtively on shaking legs, his senses on high alert, breath unsteady and ragged as he peers out into the yard.

Richie’s standing there in his backyard in the blueish dawn light, a windbreaker pulled around his shoulders, and when Eddie lifts the window and calls furiously, “What are you _doing_ , you have school!” he starts climbing up the lattice up the side of the house.

“Skipping first period,” Richie calls up as his long ungainly limbs miraculously don’t send him careening towards the overgrown rosebushes, and he hauls himself through the sill onto Eddie’s carpet, a mess of legs and curly hair and big eyes. “It’s math,” he says before Eddie can complain, “I could fucking teach those dunces if I wanted to.”

He straightens, dusting himself off, and when Eddie looks up, there’s a leaf caught in the dark curly mess of his hair. He reaches for it automatically, pulling it free, but then Richie catches his wrist between his cool, long fingers.

“Hi,” he says, finally, so soft that Eddie’s legs go boneless, and he gives a low moan of relief when Richie catches him easily, arms around his waist, and he gives a surprised huff of laugher, pressing his cheek to Eddie’s soft hair, holding him against his chest.

“You’re getting me all sweaty, Eds,” Richie chuckles, walking them cautiously over the bed before gently prying Eddie from him, tipping him onto the mattress instead. “I have to wear these clothes to school, you know.”

Eddie sits up on his elbows and licks his dry lips. “Take them off, then.”

Richie has no qualms doing that, undressing efficiently as Eddie watches, his own shirt having been discarded sometime ago, dark with sweat in the bottom of his hamper.

Once they’re even, both down to their underwear, Richie slinks atop him on the bed, pushes his legs open and Eddie grimaces against the way slick sticks his thighs together, glistening along his skin from the crease of his hip nearly halfway down his inner thigh.

“Poor kitty,” Richie teases, reaching out to pinch Eddie’s cheek, which makes him growl and playfully snap at Richie’s fingertips.

He pulls Richie down against him then, clumsily winding his hands around Richie’s skinny hips and fitting his fingers together at the small of his back. Richie’s pliant enough to let him do what he wants, catching himself on his elbow by Eddie’s face, and Eddie cranes his neck to close the distance between their mouths, eagerly bracketing the swell of Richie’s lower lip between his own, kissing him slow and soft and sweet.

Richie being there makes relief flood through him, quelling the fire crackling inside him, even if only momentarily, and as Richie slots a hand around Eddie’s hip and pushes their hips together, grinding languidly down against him, Eddie lets himself fall under the thrall just a little bit, letting his mind become unfocused and hazy under the heavy filter of desire.

He’s been hard off and on for the past couple hours, and when Richie rolls their hips together, kissing a wet path down his neck, lazily mouthing alone the curve of his shoulder, licking the sweat from his collarbone (gross, in any other circumstance, with any other context), he finds himself already embarrassingly close to cumming in his boxers just like that, twitching his hips against the hot, thick pressure of Richie’s cock between his legs.

He feels so fucking sloppy as Richie drags down the waistband of his boxers, shoving them down his lean thighs and Eddie whines against his mouth, “If you don’t get your fingers inside me right fucking _now—”_

Richie straighten up onto his knees, curling his fingers around Eddie’s ankle to pull his leg away from his body, fingers pressing curiously to the slick, swollen entrance between his legs.

Eddie’s body swallows two of his fingers so fucking easy, clamping down around them tight and ridiculously sleek, and Eddie does a full body shudder, whimpering Richie’s name in a shaking thin voice.

“Hey pussycat,” Richie grins down at him then, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, and Eddie wants to kiss him so bad it _hurts_. And also kill him, kind of.

Richie shifts a little bit, rolling off Eddie to settle on his side, bracing himself on one elbow, his fingers stroking idly at Eddie’s twitching, sensitive kitty ears, the other hand fucking him so frantically on his fingers that Eddie moans, a stuttered breathless thing, with each twitch of them against the sensitive upper wall of his pelvis and rocks his hips down to meet every thrust, clinging tight to Richie’s forearm and feeling the tendons shifting under his skin as he works his fingers.

“You wanna come?” Richie asks, pressing a tender kiss to his mouth, and when Eddie nods eagerly, he bites down and says sharply, “out loud, Eds.”

Eddie whimpers, sucking his swollen lower lip into his mouth, and flashes Richie a wounded look. “Let me cum, you asshole,” he says, and Richie can’t help but laugh at that.

It’s enough for him though, and his fingers press insistently against Eddie’s prostate, his tongue licking sweetly into Eddie’s mouth, and when he grinds his hand forward, Eddie cums with a shout he muffles into the heels of his hands, his hips bucking up frantically against Richie’s palm as his cock spills sticky cum over his lower belly.

Richie keeps fucking his fingers into him through his orgasm, until Eddie pushes him away with a groan about being oversensitive, and then he slowly lets his fingers slide out, not at all aided by the way Eddie’s body clenches tight around him and tries to keep him inside. When he straightens and sucks his glistening fingers clean, Eddie groans in embarrassment and hides his face in his pillow.

“You okay?” Richie asks after a second, bending down once more to press a kiss to the curve of Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie sits up as well, catching Richie’s cheeks between his slender fingers.

Richie’s dick is hard in his underwear, and Eddie wants nothing more than to give his body ten minutes to heat up again and then push Richie down on the mattress, pulling his thick cock out and straddling his hips, sinking down onto it and riding Richie until he cums again, but he takes one look at the clock and squeaks, panicked, “You’re missing second period!”

“Edward Kaspbrak, you’re the only one in the whole world who would make me go through all the trouble of parking down the street to sneak into your house at six in the fucking morning only to send me away with blue balls,” Richie says rolling his eyes, but there’s a dopey smile on his wide mouth. “You’re so fucking lucky you’re cute.”

Eddie cups his face, gives him a soft kiss on the mouth, and then says sweetly, “Get the fuck out of my room, you delinquent.”


	16. Sensory Deprivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley walks in on Eddie getting blindfolded in his bedroom, looks at Richie, and thinks, _not again_. 
> 
> “Stanley my manley,” Richie says, outrageously, and it makes Stanley pause in the doorway, one foot on the room and one still in the hallway. “Do you want to play a game?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today once again i offer you streddie trash... tomorrow, who knows

Stanley walks in on Eddie getting blindfolded in his bedroom (Stan’s, not Eddie’s), looks at Richie, and thinks, _not again_. 

“Stanley my manley,” Richie says, outrageously, and it makes Stanley pause in the doorway, one foot on the room and one still in the hallway. “Do you want to play a game?”

Stan thinks of several pressing questions, the most important of which he voices aloud to Richie: “ _Why_?”

Eddie blinks up at Stan, the plain black ribbon of fabric wound between his fingers now. “Bill and Mike went to the library to study, Ben’s on shift at the movie theater, and Bev said she’d rather gag up a hairball, so here we are.”

“Who even let you into my house?” Stan asks, dragging a hand through his curls, and the light catches it, turning the locks golden between his fingers.

Richie answers this time, impatient. “Your mom was heading out and let us in. Do you want to play or not?”

For a moment, Stanley considers saying _not_ , just because he can’t bear to give Richie any ounce of satisfaction, but then Eddie knots his fingers together in his lap and asks earnestly, his eyes wide and sparkling, “You want to, don’t you?” and Stanley’s resolve melts, just like that.

“How do you play?” he asks, and Richie’s grin tiptoes right into sleazy territory as Eddie holds up the blindfold once again.

“One of us puts on the blindfold and the other two can touch him wherever they want, and then the blindfolded person has to guess who’s touching where.” Richie looks much too pleased with himself for suggesting the game, straightening his glasses and shooting Stan a wide arrogant smile.

Stan gives him a pained look. “So, what you’re saying is that you want to facilitate both of us just sexually harassing Eddie in my bedroom on a Thursday afternoon?”

Eddie, poor sweet Eddie, squeaks indignantly at that, but Stan levels a flat stare Richie’s way and says, “tie the fucking ribbon, Richie.”

Stanley has plenty enough backbone when it comes to refusing things to Richie, but something about Eddie, with his wide, sincere eyes and little pink mouth, so fucking _loud_ every time he opens it and strings together the kind of profanity that would make Stanley’s mother blush (though, in a show of even more dubiousness, Eddie acts like a perfect angel in front of his parents, but the duality somehow only makes him more endearing) that makes Stanley somehow helpless to him.

As Richie winds the blindfold over Eddie’s eyes, his long clumsy fingers stumble over the ties and Stanley takes over, with five years of Boy Scouts under his belt, expertly knotting it together.

Eddie’s dark hair is so soft when it brushes his fingers, curling gently now that it’s getting longer, and Stan strokes his fingers through it once he’s finished, and the gesture makes Eddie let out a sweet startled noise.

“Are you nervous?” Stanley asks, barely daring to breathe, pressing his palm flat to Eddie’s cheek. Under his hand, Eddie’s skin is flushed pink with anticipation, and when his tongue peeks out to sweep nervously over his lower lip, Stan follows the movement as if in a trance.

Eddie giggles a little nervously and rubs a hand down his thigh. “This is kind of eerie,” he admits quietly, and when Stan nor Richie reply, he adds like an afterthought, as if trying to convince himself as much as both of them, “But it’s just you guys.”

Stanley’s heart gives a little jump at that, but he gathers himself quickly and watches as Richie pulls Eddie towards the bed and sits him down at the edge, rumpling the sheets of his meticulously made bed.

Then Eddie folds his hands neatly in his lap, chewing at his lip with uncertainty, and Richie glances over at Stan with the look on his face plain as day; _do you want to go first?_

Stanley inclines his head a little, watching Richie through his lashes as he steps back and makes space for Stan to kneel down in front of Eddie. He watches the rapid rise and fall of Eddie’s narrow shoulders for a moment, then slowly reaches out and curls a hand around Eddie’s ankle.

Eddie’s voice hitches audibly at the heat of his palm, but when he doesn’t make a guess, Stanley becomes a bit more emboldened and slides his hand all the way up Eddie’s calf to the crook of his knee. This time Eddie exhales hard, his ragged breathing the only sound in the room.

“Stanley,” he says finally in a small voice, his cheeks red under the blindfold.

“Got me,” Stan says serenely, a crafty little smile on his mouth. When he straightens, he does it by bracing his hands on Eddie’s thighs, squeezing his knee gently as he rises, and Eddie presses his lips together in a thin trembling line.

Richie raises an eyebrow at him and Stan shrugs, holds his hands out in front of him like an offer. This time Richie slides forward, pushing Eddie flat against the bed, and Eddie goes down with a surprised gasp, his hands protectively crossing over his chest, but Richie takes his wrist and pins it down against the bed and ducks down, pressing his mouth to the soft, vulnerable pale inside of Eddie’s upper arm, and Eddie jerks reflexively, a moan jumping from his throat that sounds startlingly loud in the silence of the room.

He pulls away then, and Eddie whimpers in disappointment, his knees knocking together in a quick nervous habit as he thinks.

“Richie,” he decides finally, and Richie does a surprisingly accurate impression of Stan’s dry cadence to say, “Not even close.”

Eddie’s dark eyebrows scrunch together in confusion when he hears the voice, and he says much more hesitantly, “…Are you messing with me?”

Richie grins around Eddie’s shoulder at Stanley, warm and mischievous, and Stan can’t help the heat that rises inside him, flushing his cheeks and softening his tone when he says, “Just a little.”

Eddie says in his brattiest voice, “You guys are so mean, I’m never letting you do anything to me again.”

He even keeps his face straight for a moment before Richie snorts and goes, “Then why are you hard, you pervert?” and snakes a hand up his thigh, reaching the hem of his shorts, and Eddie’s frown melts into something much more neutral and considering.

Stanley sits back on his heels and regards Richie through lidded eyes, as his long fingers curl one by one over Eddie’s tan thigh, standing out bone-white against summer-freckled skin. Eddie’s lower lip trembles finely when he sucks it into his mouth, and Stanley realizes with some faint surprise that he wants to pull it free with his teeth, if Eddie would allow him.

A strange urge, but one he’s felt before, occasionally, when Richie leans down into Eddie’s space and presses a tender kiss to his mouth in front of all of them, an act that makes Stan pretend to gag for the laughs but in reality, the desperate truth is that he feels inherently almost—

He cuts himself off before he lets himself think the word: _lonely_.

Odd, when the Losers are constantly invading his personal space and bothering him, when Richie’s arm practically has a magnet whose opposite seems to be Stanley’s shoulder, and especially odd now, as Richie glances up at him and arches an eyebrow.

Richie’s expression is one that Stanley has long since come to associate with the fluttering of anticipation in his belly. Often, accompanying the quirk of Richie’s soft pink mouth is the rush of the night breeze through Stan’s curly hair, the warmth of Richie’s arm brushing his, jumping fences and staying out too late in the heat of the summer. It’s a smile Stan keeps close to his heart.

Stan wastes no time in cradling Eddie’s boney wrists in his hands, and when Richie removes his hands from Eddie’s thighs and places them on his narrow hips instead, Eddie jerks as if shocked by static, a startled gasp ripping from his mouth.

Doing this with Richie is as easy as doing it himself. They know each other well, and when Stan pins Eddie’s wrists to his blue bedspread, Richie moves with him, dragging his palms up his thighs, catching the hem of his shirt and pulling it up to reveal Eddie’s flat, pale stomach.

Eddie’s unsteady breaths make his shoulders shake as he arches up against Richie’s hands, and after another moment, he stammers, “M-my wrists are Stan and my stomach is Richie.”

His voice is thin with uncertainty, but Richie leans down, the dark halo of his hair grazing Eddie’s thigh when he presses his mouth to the sharp jut of Eddie’s hipbone. “You’re good at this, Eds,” Richie praises, but he’s looking at Stanley, eyes hooded with lust, pupils blown huge and unfathomably dark.

Stanley looks away abruptly, not exactly sure what to do with the way his ears feel too hot or the fluttering in his belly in response to Richie’s look, staring down at Eddie as he replies, his own freckled cheeks flushing warm, “Stan’s fingers are thinner than yours, and his hands are cold as shit.”

Stan squeezes Eddie’s wrists hard for that one, and Eddie gives him a very affronted, “ _hey!_ ”

“What do I get for winning?” Eddie asks impatiently then, but Richie’s already hooking his fingers into the waistband of his shorts and pulling them off his skinny legs, exposing his cock to the air, hard against his thigh. “Oh. Well, I guess that works.”

Stan laughs at that, his grip going slack, and Eddie uses the opportunity to wiggle out of his grasp and reach up blindly until he catches Stanley’s hair, tugging him down by his curls to press their lips together in a sloppy kiss that works in no way whatsoever while Stan’s sitting on the mattress behind Eddie’s head, leaning over to kiss him backwards.

He tries to make it happen anyways, but it’s sloppy, Eddie’s teeth dragging across his lip, his tongue licking into his mouth, and when Stan finally sits up breathing heavily, his lips feel swollen when he licks them.

Richie’s worked off Eddie’s underwear when Stan looks up, already swallowing his cock down and making it look so fucking easy, taking Eddie down his throat like it’s nothing.

“Shit,” he mutters before he can hold it back, “how the fuck did Richie get so good at sucking cock?”

Eddie giggles at that, a noise that dissolves into a huffy exhale as Richie bobs his head further down, the soft swell of his lips nearly pressed to the neat dark thatch of curls above Eddie’s dick. “I’m better,” he boasts, but winds his legs around Richie’s shoulders just the same, one hand settling on Richie’s glossy black hair to stroke idly through it.

Stan drags his thumb over Eddie’s lower lip, still puffy from kissing him, and Eddie’s little pink tongue presses to the finger, startlingly warm and glistening pink. “You wanna show me sometime, sweetheart?” Stan asks, feeling oddly tender towards Eddie in this moment, when his lips tremble against Stanley’s hand, his soft, dark brown hair brushing Stanley’s bare knees.

Eddie whimpers, nodding eagerly at the thought, and then it’s over, his brows drawing together over his blindfold, and Stan moves quickly, undoing the knot with one smooth pull he’d set solely for this purpose, and suddenly Eddie’s soft brown eyes, sensitive even to the dim lamplight of Stanley’s room, are visible again, and Stan looks down at him, heart in his fucking hands and croons, sweeping his thumb over the curve of Eddie’s cheek, “there you are, baby, so pretty,” and Eddie cums, arching up against Richie’s mouth and making a noise like a broken sob.

Stan’s too busy pressing kisses to Eddie’s red cheeks to really enjoy the sight of Richie hollowing his cheeks out, swallowing Eddie’s cum as best he can, but when he straightens, Richie shoots him a devious kind of smile and leans forward over Eddie’s body and before Stan can yell for him not to or even just turn away, Richie kisses him, licking the taste of Eddie’s cum into his mouth.

Stan grimaces—he hates the taste, always fucking has, and Richie _knows_ it, what a fucker—and knocks their foreheads together.

“Idiot,” he says, helplessly fond, and draws Richie to him.


	17. Handcuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie’s limbs are so endlessly long, sprawled across the bed, his arms pinned above his head by the handcuffs, his dick curved towards his stomach, his slender ankles crossed elegantly as he watches Eddie, and Eddie’s absolutely in fucking love, sparks in his chest and butterflies in his stomach and a raw, aching tenderness in his heart when Richie mutters, “can you fucking shut up and ride me already?”

Eddie’s eyes follow the curve of Richie’s arm, trailing down along the veins over lean tendon. Richie’s biceps make an impressive effort against the restraints, the thick muscles bulging against his pale skin, and Eddie presses his fingers to the contours to feel the firmness of them under the soft downy cover of Richie’s arm hair.

“Your arms go fucking crazy, Rich,” he can’t help but breathe, reverent as he sweeps his palms up to the dark leather handcuffs strapping Richie’s wrists to the headboard.

Richie shifts under him, an embarrassed flush blooming on his cheeks, so fucking _pretty_ , letting his head roll to the side when he says, uncharacteristically bashful, “you’re just sweet talking me, Eds.”

“I’m not,” he says sincerely, earnestly pressing a kiss to the unshaven sharp line of Richie’s jaw, and when Richie glances at him through his eyelashes, long and dark, his pupils dilated, Eddie adds, “you’re _so_ sexy, dude, it’s ridiculous.”

Richie’s limbs are so endlessly long, sprawled across the bed, his arms pinned above his head by the handcuffs, his dick curved towards his stomach, his slender ankles crossed elegantly as he watches Eddie, and Eddie’s absolutely in fucking love, sparks in his chest and butterflies in his stomach and a raw, aching tenderness in his heart when Richie mutters, “can you fucking shut up and ride me already?”

He sinks back slow, the slick, blunt head of Richie’s cock stretching him open as he slides down every excruciatingly thick inch, until his ass meets Richie’s hips. Richie’s straining again the cuffs again, arching up against him, the set of his jaw tense as Eddie braces his palms on his broad chest and lazily grinds down against him.

“How’s that?” Eddie asks, pitching his voice sweet, and Richie grits his teeth and hisses, “Stay _still_ you little gremlin,” as his hips shake with how much effort it takes not to fuck up into the sleek tight heat of Eddie’s body.

Eddie rolls his hips back experimentally, and Richie’s dick hits something inside him that has his thighs trembling. He works himself back at that angle, fucking down onto Richie’s dick, and Richie gasps for breath under him, his long legs sliding up the bed just as Eddie tips backwards, catching him against his thighs.

Eddie hums, considering as he rocks down against Richie’s cock, his own dick grinding against Richie’s soft stomach, and when he catches Richie’s dark, glazed eyes, he asks teasingly, “should I just finish and leave you like this for the rest of the night?”

“You’re a demon,” Richie growls, bucking up against him, and Eddie whimpers when his dick hits just a little to deep, sending a sweet white-hot ache up his spine.

“No, you,” Eddie says petulantly, and rakes his nails down Richie’s chest just because he can. Richie twists under him, groaning at the sting, and the scratches leave long red marks on Richie’s pale skin.

And then, just to be an asshole, “I’m kind of thirsty, Rich.”

Richie blinks up at him. “And?”

“So, I should go downstairs to get some water,” Eddie explains slowly, and watches as Richie’s eyes widen in understanding, and in the same moment slides off Richie’s cock before Richie can do something to retaliate, like trap him with his legs.

“You’re leaving me _cuffed_?” Richie demands, twisting against the handcuffs, and Eddie stands there, naked in the doorway of the room for a moment, admiring Richie’s powerful biceps before he walks down the hall and calls lovingly, “Don’t break the bedframe, darling.”


	18. Breeding Kink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jeez,” Eddie says shakily, “You’re fucking me like you’re trying to put a baby in me, Rich.”
> 
> He accompanies the words with a laugh, but they settle like gasoline in the quickfire burning in Richie’s belly. He hikes Eddie’s ankles over his shoulders, fucking up into him with tight, calculated thrusts, and Eddie’s chuckle turns into a wail, the noise quaking out of him, and Richie growls, teeth scraping over the soft exposed hill of his throat, “ _Shit_ , Eds, you’d look so fucking—so fucking hot filled with my load,” as his hands climb to press protectively over Eddie’s lower stomach, pushing down until he can feel the way Eddie’s insides shift to accommodate his thick cock, pressing against his belly from the inside with every hard thrust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place in the same universe as chapter 13: A/B/O

Richie always gets more and more possessive the closer he gets to his rut, like an ingrained urge to be close to Eddie manifests as his hormones start to go crazy, gearing up for that very specific twice-a-year intense kind of torture, when he goes out of his fucking skin if he doesn’t get his hands on Eddie.

Usually a shirt or two that Eddie’s been wearing around will work as substitute (Richie asks just once for underwear, and Eddie looks so affronted, red cheeked when he shouts, “ _no_ fucking way!” that Richie doesn’t even bother trying again.) but this particular season, his rut happens to coincidentally coincide with a very distant great aunt’s funeral for which his parents must drive down to Connecticut.

He’d told Eddie the week before when they’d been in his room after school one afternoon, Eddie working diligently on his homework at his desk, Riche flopped across the bed next to him, his own work already done. He’d started rubbing his thumb over the nape of Eddie’s neck absently as he’d spoke, the need for proximity heightened already.

“Do you want to come over?” He’d asked, shy. Like Eddie would say no when Richie’s helped him through so many heats month after month.

Eddie had knocked his wrist away with a casual hand and peeked over his shoulder, a knowing smirk twisting his mouth. “You want me to?” he’d asked, just to make Richie squirm.

His cheeks heat even now, a week later and waiting for Eddie to arrive, as he recalls the way Eddie had smiled when he’d stammered out an, “of course, I do.”

The house feels eerie when it’s empty, without his parents fondly bickering or nagging him, without the way his father paces in his office, the floorboards creaking. It doesn’t help that he’s on edge anyways, his rut creeping up on him slow, a heat burning low in his belly that he can push aside easily enough now, but will steadily grow into an unmanageable flame.

He’s cleaned up as best as he can for Eddie, throwing most of his dirty laundry in his hamper, pulling his sheets straight, but his agitation doesn’t calm even when the room is orderly, and when Eddie knocks on the front door, the noise resonating through the house, he startles.

Seeing Eddie standing in the doorway of his home, slight and windblown, his cheeks flushed red from biking over, Richie feels the full extent of his desire slam into him all at once, present and unquenchable, and it takes every ounce of his self-control not to press Eddie to the floor of the foyer and fuck him right there, on his mother’s favorite beige rug.

“Hi,” he says, feeling breathless as he moves aside for Eddie to walk into the house.

Eddie takes a million years toeing off his shoes, neatly hanging his jacket on the coatrack, standing on his tiptoes to reach, and finally, at long last, he turns to Richie with soft, shining eyes and says primly, “should we go upstairs?”

Richie tangles their fingers together, throat dry as Eddie leads them up the stairs like he owns the place, to Richie’s room, where the lights are all out save for one desk lamp half dimmed by a sweater thrown over it. He half expects Eddie to comment on the potential fire hazard there, but he climbs onto Richie’s bed instead, crossing his legs under him, shorts riding up his lean thighs.

“It’s so dark in here,” he says softly, rubbing his hand up and down his thigh in a jumpy, nervous way. “Why d’you have the curtains closed?”

Richie glances at the thick, dark curtains he’d put up only days ago specifically for this purpose. “My eyes get sensitive,” he explains, stalking towards the bed through the dark like a predator at its prey. Eddie spins to look at him, eyes widening as Richie snakes his arms through his, caging him against the bed, knees on either side of Eddie’s hips.

Richie spends the next hour not even horny yet, just scenting Eddie and laying down on top of him, pinning him to the mattress, nosing into the underside of his jaw and greedily pressing his hands to Eddie’s bare thighs, squeezing the soft, malleable flesh.

He presses his mouth to the nape to Eddie’s neck, pressing his tongue flat to Eddie’s scent gland, and Eddie shudders under him, and quiet startled noise, and reaches instinctively for his hand. It’s only when Richie threads their fingers together that the rigid set of his shoulders loosens and he sighs, “Richie, you’re getting me all gross and sweaty.”

He straightens to let Eddie sit up, which he does with an extremely bitchy look, shoving at Richie’s shoulders, pushing him down against the mattress instead. He crawls atop Richie’s hips and starts working off the buttons of Richie’s shirt one by one, exposing the fair skin of his chest, and then wrestles off his own shirt.

Richie goes pliant against the mattress, watching Eddie’s lean, freckled stomach twist as he grapples with his shirt, the sight of his soft skin irresistibly spurring on his desire to rake his blunt nails down Eddie’s hips and watch the marks flare red.

This part always has him feeling a little guilty—the urge to leave physical marks all over Eddie’s easily bruised skin, to sink his teeth into the soft give of Eddie’s thighs and the vulnerable nape of his neck. The idea of actually breaking skin and potentially causing Eddie pain makes him squeamish, to say the least.

Eddie ducks down to kiss him then, eagerly nipping at his bottom lip, his fingers knotting through Richie’s curly hair, pulling just hard enough for it to make his scalp tingle with sensation, and when Eddie sharply tightens his fist and yanks, his mouth falls open on a surprised moan at the ache of it. Eddie takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, his slick, soft tongue brushing past Richie’s aching canines, and for a moment Richie has to hold his breath to keep his head in the face of the massive swell of hunger that rises inside him, opening like a bottomless black pit.

His hands slide to Eddie’s hips, holding him against his lap, and when Eddie purposefully pulls at his hair again, Richie grinds up against him, the motion dragging a startled little gasp out of Eddie’s kiss-swollen mouth.

Eddie slides back on his hips, his slender fingers efficiently dragging Richie’s boxers down his thighs, and his dick springs back against his stomach, hard and frankly monstrous against the little hand Eddie winds around it. His dark eyebrows crease together and he asks a little unsurely, “Is it always this big?”

Richie can’t help but laugh at that, his own longer, paler fingers joining Eddie’s on his cock, showing him the pressure and rhythm that he likes. Eddie’s lips flatten together in concentration as he struggles to make his fingertips touch around his dick.

“So, uh… you don’t go…” Eddie’s mouth twists contemplatively to the side, and finally he settles on, “You don’t get all out of it? The way that I do?”

Eddie’s heat makes him delirious at times, crying or shaking, out of his mind with it in a way that Richie hasn’t ever experienced. “Not in the same way,” he explains, feeling oddly guilty about it. “I mean. I’m not going to go crazy and hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie shakes his head vehemently, his eyes widening, sincere and dark. “I’m not!” he inserts immediately, his fingers threading together on Richie’s flat, pale belly. “I know you wouldn’t.”

The smile he sends Richie’s way is hesitant but genuine, his cheeks flushing shyly, and when Richie straightens, sitting up and crossing his legs, Eddie fitting neatly in his lap, Eddie doesn’t even complain about being manhandled, pliantly curling into Richie’s chest, rubbing his cheek against Richie’s pec until Richie pushes him away and huffs about it being ticklish.

He presses his mouth to Eddie’s jaw instead, pressing openmouthed kisses to the soft underside, all the way up to the soft curve of his red, warm cheek, and when Eddie’s mouth trembles, the warm insistent scent of his arousal flaring, Richie can’t help but lick broad stripes across the blushing skin of his cheek, right over Eddie’s sun-freckled face, and he squeaks in embarrassment.

“ _Richie_ ,” he whines, pushing gently at Richie’s shoulders until he moves away reluctantly, and Eddie presses his forehead to his sternum, hiding his face in Richie’s chest.

There’s too much saliva in his mouth—he swallows hard, but Eddie squirms in his lap, and, _fuck_. He can smell how wet Eddie is, the heat of his body bleeding through his clothes, and Richie tilts his face down into Eddie’s soft dark hair and inhales deeply. His dick is so fucking hard it hurts, and Eddie’s clean, sweet scent is doing nothing to calm it down.

His hands tear at Eddie’s shorts like they have a mind of their own, moving with a deadly intent, stripping them down his legs, and then they’re both naked, and something in Richie calms at the thought.

He holds out his arms. “C’mere,” he tells Eddie, and when he crawls forward, back into Richie’s lap, a warm, reassuring weight, Richie winds his arms around his hips again to pull him closer, his cock pressing insistently against Eddie’s soft stomach.

Eddie’s fingers curl over his dick again, feeling the weight of it in his palm, and when he asks a little dubiously, “Are you _sure_ it’s always this big?” Richie resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s like, an inch bigger than usual,” he says, staring down at it. “Also, I can’t believe our issue here is that you think my dick is _too big_. Do you understand how bad this is for my ego?”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, aggressive. He squeezes the base of Richie’s cock gently, and then asks, eyes flitting up to study Richie’s face, “Should I use my mouth?”

He considers. Blinks slowly, and Eddie follows the motion with his eyes. “No,” he decides, because Eddie’s scent is making his mouth water, and he wants to get to the source of it, and taste it on his tongue, “I’ll use mine.”

Eddie scrambles back off his lap, onto the sheets, his face red, eyes stubbornly fixated on Richie’s knee, rather than his face. He settles back on his elbows and squeezes his thighs together, only lets them slide apart when Richie takes his knees and pulls them apart to make room for himself.

He takes in the sight below him, of Eddie’s red cheeks and the curls sticking to the sweat slicking his forehead, the way his eyelashes flutter dark when he blinks rapidly and complains, “You mean, when I’m in heat I’m the disoriented one, and when you’re in rut I’m _still_ the disoriented one?”

“The tyranny of it all,” Richie says, feeling a little breathless. Eddie finally lets his thighs fall all the way open, and Richie’s eyes are greedy, taking in the sight of his pink, weeping hole, glistening with slick, the heaving of his chest when he breathes raggedly. He presses two limber fingers between Eddie’s legs, and Eddie’s body swallows him so fucking easily, clamping down on his knuckles.

There’s slick pooling over his wrist, dripping a lethargic path down his inner forearm as he fucks Eddie on his fingers, and Eddie whimpers, jerking back against him with every twitch of his wrist, trying his hardest to get Richie deeper inside him.

He waits for Eddie to relax, the convulsive rise and fall of his chest slowing to something more manageable, before he settles on his elbows between his legs. Eddie’s hole is tight, puffy and pink around his boney, pale fingers, and when Richie crooks his fingers up purposefully, he feels the way Eddie clenches around him as the pads of his fingers hit that slick, sensitive wall of Eddie’s upper pelvis.

“I thought you were going to use your mouth,” Eddie says, tilting his head back against Richie’s pillows, watching him through heavy, dark eyelashes.

Richie scissors his fingers apart just to make him squirm, Eddie shuddering under him at the feeling, and then licks sloppily around the stretched-out rim of Eddie’s ass, relishing the way Eddie moans in surprise.

“Like that?” Richie asks, and trails his tongue up, pressing it flat to the underside of Eddie’s balls, nudges his fingers up to hit Eddie’s prostate, and Eddie exhales, swift and hard, his back arching up off the bed.

Eddie’s slick is so sweet on his tongue, his rut-addled brain hyper-focused on holding Eddie open and licking into him, fucking him on his tongue until Eddie’s a writhing mess, his thin legs shaking and his dick leaking against his stomach, slick gathering on his tongue when he flattens his tongue and drags it over Eddie’s twitching pink hole.

Eddie twists under him, hands clamped over his face in embarrassment, letting out a high shocked noise when Richie grips his hips tight and pulls him closer, swallowing down his cock easily. Eddie’s hips tremble against his fingers, and when Richie uses the grip he has on Eddie’s waist to roll his hips forward and let him fuck his mouth, Eddie gets the hint and winds a hand through his overgrown black curls, arching up into the heat of his throat.

He spends a long time biting at Eddie’s thighs, until the pale skin blooms red with bruises that will darken overnight, sucking soft flesh between his lips and running his teeth over abused skin to soothe it afterwards, and Eddie’s breath hitches with every sharp scrape of his teeth, his hips twitching between Richie’s long fingers, his dick wet with Richie’s saliva and his own precum, smearing the mess over his flat belly.

Were his dick not so fucking _hard_ , throbbing in his hand nearly in rhythm with his pulse, he’d be content to eat Eddie out all night, but the urge to straighten up on his knees and bury his cock in the soft, tight heat of Eddie’s body wins out, and he pulls his fingers out, doing a sloppy cleanup which consists of him licking the slick off the digits before guiding the thick, glistening head of his cock to Eddie’s fucked-out hole, stretching him open much wider than his fingers.

Eddie stammers his name in a rapid, pitchy voice, clinging to him and crying, “R- _Richie,_ it’s too b-big, you’re gonna break me,” as his eyes well up with oversensitive tears, and Richie pauses above him, examining him with cautious eyes.

“You want me to stop, Eds?” he asks, aimlessly pushing a stray curl off Eddie’s forehead. His other hand drops to Eddie’s hip, stroking over the curve in an instinctively soothing way.

No, he doesn’t become super out of it and hazy—Richie’s rut does the opposite, making him fine-tuned to his Omega’s emotions, and when Eddie shakes his head and says in a shaky voice, “I’m fine, just give me a second,” and wraps his fingers tightly around Richie’s arm, nails digging crescents into the pale, nearly translucent skin of his forearm, Richie knows that he means it.

Eddie’s shaking and unsteady breathing slows eventually, as Richie keeps stroking a tender hand over the quivering plane of his belly, feeling the softness of his skin, the way his muscles bunch under the heat of Richie’s palm.

It’s Eddie who ultimately shifts his hips down and takes more of him, swallowing every slow, excruciating centimeter of his knot, one hand curled over Richie’s on his lower belly, the other braced above him on the bedframe for leverage to fuck himself down against Richie’s cock. “There,” he says, dazed but self-satisfied, as Richie’s hips press flat against his thighs when he bottoms out, “It’s fine.”

Richie questions the validity of that when Eddie’s thighs shake where they wrap around his waist, his cheeks still damp, his mouth bitten and swollen from being worried, but he slows instead of stops, giving Eddie a moment to collect himself.

He keeps his hands busy instead, rolling Eddie’s stiff nipples between his fingers, tracing the grooves of his ribs down his heaving sides, until Eddie swipes a thumb down the sharp edge of his cheek, cupping a hand around his jaw to kiss him, and says against his mouth, “ _fuck_ me, already, wanna feel your knot inside me.”

Richie braces himself on his elbows above Eddie, brushes their mouths together in a languid kiss, and fucks him deep, tearing a stuttered moan from Eddie’s mouth as he grips Eddie’s hip with one hand to keep him from sliding up the bed, the thick, hot curve of his cock burying itself in the slick heat of Eddie’s body again and again, and Eddie whimpers and mewls against him, head tipping back to expose his throat.

Richie’s gums ache with the urge to sink his teeth into the soft, vulnerable slope of Eddie’s neck, but he settles for licking roughly across the freckled skin instead, leaving it wet and slippery with saliva, his tongue pressing flat against the top of Eddie’s spine, where his scent gland throbs under his skin.

“Jeez,” Eddie says shakily, “You’re fucking me like you’re trying to put a baby in me, Rich.”

He accompanies the words with a laugh, but they settle like gasoline in the quickfire burning in Richie’s belly. He hikes Eddie’s ankles over his shoulders, fucking up into him with tight, calculated thrusts, and Eddie’s chuckle turns into a wail, the noise quaking out of him, and Richie growls, teeth scraping over the soft exposed hill of his throat, “ _Shit_ , Eds, you’d look so fucking—so fucking hot filled with my load,” as his hands climb to press protectively over Eddie’s lower stomach, pushing down until he can feel the way Eddie’s insides shift to accommodate his thick cock, pressing against his belly from the inside with every hard thrust.

“You want me to breed you full?” Richie asks, and the idea of it—implausible as it may be, because Eddie’s mom’s had him on birth control since his first fucking heat, the crazy bitch—is enough to have Eddie cumming, his hands scrabbling to hold onto Richie’s broad back, grinding down against his cock as he rides out his orgasm.

Richie drags a thumb through the pearly cum that’s spilled over his hip, rubbing it into his skin, and Eddie wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Gross,” he complains, and yelps in surprise when Richie manhandles him onto his side, spooning him, his dick still hard and seven inches deep inside him, so intense that it makes his tailbone ache, just a little.

He doesn’t keep fucking Eddie just yet, knowing how oversensitive he gets after he cums, and it’s not an issue staying hard while his rut passes overhead. Eddie tangles their hands together, playing idly with Richie’s long, pale fingers as Richie braces himself on one elbow and holds Eddie’s hip steady.

When Eddie’s heartrate has calmed (Richie’s senses are getting so fucking heightened, he hears a car sputter to a stop down the street in the night, the way Eddie’s heart thumps hard in his chest, and when he glances out the window, he sees every single individual tree in the silhouette of the forest outside in the backyard) he starts rocking his hips forward, guiding Eddie back to meet his thrusts, and Eddie lets out a shuddery breath, his fingers knotting together over his stomach.

“D-deep,” he whimpers, eyes wide and desperate, looking over his shoulder to meet Richie’s gaze, “Richie, it’s so- it’s so fucking deep, oh my god.”

He grinds their hips together slow, and Eddie starts to whine as his cock swells again, oversensitive and pink, as Richie bites at the freckled peaks of his shoulders, nuzzling into the scent gland at the nape of his neck. He wants to rub his scent into all of the soft bits of Eddie’s body, where fat clings stubbornly even into early adulthood, on his cheeks, where the golden tan of the sun has left freckles that linger into late autumn, to his hips, slender and cocked to the side often when he plants his hands on them and nags Richie about something. Richie digs his hands into those hips now, holding onto them so tight that Eddie gasps sharply, twisting in his grasp.

He pushes Eddie onto his hands and knees this time, fucks him slow and deep from behind until Eddie’s trembling, the set of his spine rigid, a thin sheen of sweat making his tense back glisten. His ass swallows Richie so easily now, and when Richie uses his thumb to trace over the taut way Eddie’s slick rim stretches around the base of his cock, Eddie sobs and goes, “what the fuck did you just _do_ , oh god, what the _hell_ ,” and tightens around him uncontrollably.

“Chill,” Richie says immediately, stroking his hand down Eddie’s back, “I touched your rim for like, _one_ second, baby. Gonna have to loosen up way more if you’re going to take my knot.”

Eddie hides his face in his forearms, but not before Richie gets a glimpse of the red staining his cheeks and has time to process how fucking cute he is. “You want to take my knot in here?” he asks, grinding the pad of his thumb against the pink stretched muscles of Eddie’s hole, snug around his cock, and Eddie moans so loud that Richie feels the vibration resonate through him, making his whole body tremble around Richie’s dick.

His dick’s keeping all the slick Eddie’s body is making plugged inside him, and that will also definitely help with the whole knotting situation, he knows, from the way the inside of Eddie’s body is so wet and soft around him, slick overflowing on every upstroke of Richie’s cock, weeping from his rim, down the line of his ass to his balls, all the way over his cock.

There’s no way he won’t pop his knot fucking Eddie like this, the soft swell of his ass grinding back against the narrow, boney plane of his hips, his dick plunging into the wet, tight heat of Eddie’s body, and sure enough, as Eddie moans and frantically fucks back against him, he feels that familiar tightening in his balls, a deep-rooted feeling in the bottom of his belly that swells inside him now, insistently pushing all other thoughts from his mind but Eddie.

He wants to see—he flips Eddie over easily, onto his back , and Eddie blinks his soft, beautiful brown eyes in confusion, looking up at him so sweetly that Richie wants to yank his jaw aside and bury his canines into his scent gland, marking him with his scent in the most intimate way possible. Of course he doesn’t, curbing the desire by sucking a deep bruise at the base of Eddie’s throat instead, his clever fingers rolling Eddie’s nipples, and Eddie arches up into him, his swollen lower lip caught between his teeth.

Eddie presses his palm to his belly again, and it’s a surefire way of riling Richie up, blinking his sweet doe-eyes up at him, his pink little mouth falling open on a moan, and he practically begs, “fill me up, Richie, put a fucking litter in me, baby—”

Richie’s hands curl over his on his stomach, longer, hotter fingers curling through Eddie’s own, and Richie chokes softly, “Eds, so fucking good, you’re so tight, oh god, oh,” and buries his face in his shoulder, inhaling deep as his knot swells swiftly.

Eddie cries out, stunned, as Richie’s cock stretches him open inside, his knot pressing persistently against Eddie’s slick, soft inner walls, until each tiny twitch of Richie’s hips have him quivering with overstimulation. “Oh,” Eddie marvels, as Richie’s knot presses directly on his prostate, unbearably sensitive, “Fuck, _fuck_ , A-Alpha!”

Eddie’s never called him that before, no matter how bad his heats get, whether he’s jumpy and scared or crying inconsolably, and to have him say it now, his eyes dark and shining with affection, makes Richie moan lowly as his knot breaks, his hips fucking forward instinctively, the first round of his cum spilling warm into Eddie’s willing body.

Eddie whimpers softly as he fucks the ridiculous load of cum into him, as he orgasms never-endingly, his body wracked by waves of heat and pleasure that leave him panting raggedly against Eddie’s shoulder, the knot still swollen to keep all the thick evidence of his release inside Eddie’s fucked out body.

They’re going to be stuck like this for another twenty minutes at least, Richie slowly humping his hips forward as his knot goes down gradually, fucking each load of cum into Eddie’s hole until his belly is full of it, until the beast within Richie has calmed and Eddie smells like him, is full of him, and cums writhing on his cock one last time before he passes out, overwhelmed and exhausted.

He knows he’s going to have to wake Eddie up again in a couple hours when the rut makes arousal inevitably stir within him again, but for now, he tucks Eddie into his arms and clings tight, mouthing possessively over his scent gland, and Eddie makes a sweet, sleepy content noise against his chest as Richie makes his scent linger on Eddie’s skin, and lets him sleep.


	19. Cockwarming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Eddie,” he whines, his cheek scorching when it presses against Eddie’s shoulder, “say psych if you don’t want to be creampied right fucking now.”

There are mornings when Eddie wakes up to Richie grinding slowly against him, the thick, hot outline of his cock pressing against Eddie’s ass through his underwear, and he goes pliant with it, letting Richie press sleepy, needy hands all over his thighs, dragging down his briefs and caressing his dick clumsily until he’s hard.

Richie presses against him from behind, warm against his back, the scrape of his unshaven morning stubble rough across Eddie’s shoulder as he eases his own underwear down and presses his cock to Eddie’s hole dry.

He’s already stretched from the night before, his ass all raw and fucked-out, slippery with Richie’s cum inside when Richie presses two fingers against him, testing out how loose he still is. When Eddie hums softly in his throat and fucks his hips back against Richie’s long fingers, he knows that it’s fine and presses his fingers to Eddie’s hip instead, guiding his cock into the warm, slick heat of Eddie’s body.

The ache of being split open again sends dull pain radiating through his lower back until Richie presses a broad palm there, massaging the tension out as he fucks into the tight ring of muscle, dragging his cock deep into Eddie’s belly, just short of overwhelming

Eddie whines as Richie buries his cock to the hilt, squirming at the sleek friction of Richie entering him slowly, his toes curling, his own cock bobbing with interest against his stomach, but Richie doesn’t move, cradling Eddie to his chest and pressing his cheek to the sharp jut of Eddie’s shoulder blade.

He dozes like that, lazily pumping his hips and fucking Eddie just enough to keep himself hard whenever he gets a little too sleepy, just stroking his fingers along the sparse hairs of Eddie’s thighs, squeezing his hips, pressing languid kisses across his shoulder as Eddie rolls back against him, his hips working down against Richie’s cock at the same slow pace, not with the intent to get off but to elongate the experience.

Richie wakes up in increments, checking his phone, responding to emails he’d gotten from his manager, all while fucking shallowly into Eddie, working him open on his fat cock, while Eddie tries to catnap for a few more moments, still half asleep even as he’s fucked open.

He only properly wakes up when Richie sheathes his dick fully into him, exhaling sharply, the breath knocked from his lungs, but when he tries to fuck his hips backwards onto Richie’s cock, Richie holds him still with the hand on his hip and says, not even looking up from his phone, “not yet, baby.”

Eddie squirms uncomfortably against him for a while, until he loses his patience and snaps, “Richie, _move_ already, I’m going to go back to sleep if you don’t fuck me.”

His cheeks are warm, his words indignant, but Richie doesn’t pay him any mind, noting in a bored voice, “Stan called, maybe I should call him back first.”

“Now?” Eddie asks, voice breaking over the word.

“No time like the present,” Richie says, and runs his hand down Eddie’s side, all the way from his ribcage down his hip, following his thigh to the curve of his knee, and then goes all the way back up to Eddie’s ribs, and then pulls away altogether, tapping at his phone.

Eddie doesn’t think he has the guts right up until he hears the faint ringing of the phone, and then he goes rigid, panic bolting down his spine. Richie’s cock is inside him, so fucking deep, insistently pressing against his insides, making his brain break down in the best way possible as Stan’s familiar voice sounds, “ _What do you want, Rich_?”

It’s three hours later into the day in Atlanta, and Eddie can imagine what the Urises must be up to on this late Saturday morning with perfect clarity, a vision of Patty and Stan having brunch together like civilized people at their breakfast bar, while on the other side of the country, Richie and Eddie lay around in bed and fuck for hours, lazy and drawn out like depraved animals.

The thought is an embarrassing one, and it makes him whimper low in his throat as Richie cants his hips forward and grinds into him, answering Stanley in a steady, unwavering voice. “You’re the one who called me, Staniel,” Richie reminds him, his fingers dancing over the tapered curve of Eddie’s waist. His sounds alarmingly patient and he squeezes Eddie’s thigh when he squirms too much, giving him a meaningful look that can mean only one thing; _stay still, you stupid slut_.

“Oh, the reservation?” Richie asks, his hot, possessive hands all over Eddie’s hips, massaging the soft skin and pressing the heel of his palm down, rocking his hips deep into Eddie’s slick, fucked out hole, feeling the blunt, thick head of his cock pressing against his own hand from inside Eddie’s tummy.  
“Yeah, Mike did forward it to me. It’s in his name, so you can ask him about the details.”

Eddie jerks against his chest at the feeling, and he hisses lowly, “t _-too deep_ , Rich,” his own hands tugging at Richie’s wrist, pulling his hand off the warm, distended curve of his belly. Eddie’s fingers shake when he tentatively touches his usually-flat belly, and when Richie rolls their bodies together, snapping his hips forward hard, Eddie watches it peak up and down like a fucking pulse, eerie if not for the sharp, sweet pleasure that arcs over him when Richie bottoms out inside him, his broad palm curling around Eddie’s cock.

“Is that it?” Richie asks into the receiver, just a little strained now, never once letting up the brutal pistoning of his hips, and Eddie’s mindless with it, his hands clamped over his stomach, feeling Richie fuck deep into him, overstimulated tears pricking at his eyes, his cock bobbing painfully hard against his belly with every hard thrust, the head slick with precum that smears across his hip, glistening and slippery. “Anything else I can do for you?”

Richie properly starts jerking him off then, dragging his fist down Eddie’s slick cock, and Eddie shoves the heel of his hand into his mouth, digging his teeth into his palm to keep the startled, helpless moans that wrack up his chest from sounding loud enough for Stan to hear. “Eddie?” Richie says, and his voice sinks into that rough, low growl that makes Eddie fucking lose it, “Yeah, he’s—he’s good, just a little tied up at the moment.”

Stan says something dry that Eddie doesn’t quite catch over the roar of blood in his ears, but Richie barks out a laugh, the sound rumbling through his chest, and Eddie feels it resonate where they’re connected, Richie’s dick nudging forward against the soft wall of his pelvis, and Eddie has just enough time to hear Richie bid Stan farewell and hang up before he cums so fucking hard he whites out.

His orgasm crests through him swiftly, his hips rutting back against Richie’s cock, his hole sloppy and open and raw, Richie creampieing last night’s cum out of him, and Eddie makes a soft, wounded noise as Richie releases his cock, pressing his warm, broad hand flat to Eddie’s stomach. The heat of his palm radiates through Eddie intensely, and he gasps, curling his fingers around Richie’s forearm as his dick drips a sticky thread down his hip, inching slow and thick towards the sheets. He shakes with oversensitivity as Richie gathers him closer and grinds into him, deep, his voice a low murmur when he says, “Isn’t it a fucking shame I couldn’t keep that load in you?”

“’Could put another one in me,” Eddie says dizzily, thinking of the way Richie’s thick cock pulses in him when he cums, his hips fucking erratically against the swell of Eddie’s ass, hard enough that each snap of his hips makes a slick, obscene slapping noise that stains Eddie’s cheeks red with embarrassment, moaning helplessly when Richie’s cum spills inside him, sloppy and so fucking warm.

Richie hums consideringly, rubbing the pad of his thumb through Eddie’s cum, smearing it over the curve of his hipbone. “You want it?” he asks, voice softening, so tender that it makes Eddie’s insides feel like they’re melting down into the pit of his stomach. “You take it so fucking well, Eds, my own personal cockslut.”

He nods eagerly, too turned on to care about how lewd he sounds when he keens, “Richie, Richie _please_ , f-feels so fucking good, oh my god, I love your c-cock,” and tilts his cheek into the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as Richie holds his hips still, their bodies pressed flush.

His dick is half soft now, sticky with cum where it rests across his thigh, but Richie is still against him, just holding him idly, mouthing against Eddie’s shoulders and when Eddie asks, voice pitched high with annoyance, “why did you stop?” he presses his cheek between Eddie’s shoulder blades, his rough stubble scraping Eddie’s back reddish.

“It’s good to slow down sometimes,” Richie says sagely, nuzzling against Eddie’s spine, handsy all over Eddie’s front until he finds his hand and tangles their fingers together, holding them together right below Eddie’s ribcage.

Eddie makes a quiet startled noise as Richie shifts against him, his dick angling differently inside him, pressure against that soft, intensely sensitive spot inside him that punches the breath from his lungs in a stuttered moan that falls from his mouth in a series of breathy “ _ah, ah, ah_ ’s,” his dark eyebrows steepling together over his eyes, squeezed shut in the onslaught of Richie fucking him.

Richie fucks him deep and steady for a while, at the same excruciatingly slow pace until Eddie’s cock begins to fill against his thigh again, his belly aching in the best possible way as Richie’s hand slides between his legs, past his cock to press to the soft skin under his balls, right above his twitching, fucked-out pink hole, pressing his thumb briefly to where they’re connected, so fucking _sloppy_ with Richie’s cum and lube, and when he starts massaging firm circles into the slick skin, Eddie wails, oversensitive, his hole clamping down tight around Richie’s cock.

Richie’s balls ache from holding off, his cock having been hard on and off for the past two hours, the slick heat of Eddie’s ass clenching around him whenever he’s about to soften, or Eddie will moan again, shy and sweet, his cheeks flushed red, and Richie’s good to go again.

“Eddie,” he whines, his cheek scorching when it presses against Eddie’s shoulder, “say psych if you don’t want to be creampied right fucking now.”

He’s fucking Eddie at the same even pace, plunging his cock deep into the yielding softness of Eddie’s body, the only indication of how close he is the tremble in his hand where it presses to Eddie’s belly, feeling his cock stir up Eddie’s insides and the way his dick pulses around the grip of Eddie’s body.

“If you even _think_ of pulling out right now—” Eddie starts to hiss, but never gets to finish the threat because Richie moans, a wanton, helpless noise, his hips snapping up against the swell of Eddie’s ass hard, and cums hard, fucking Eddie throughout his orgasm, his cock filling Eddie’s belly with warm, thick cum, and it makes Eddie’s voice dissolve into a broken whimper, his cock fully hard again, curved towards his stomach.

Richie fucks him even after cumming, his dick still just stiff enough to nudge against Eddie’s prostate, and when he reaches a hand down and rubs his thumb over Eddie’s perineum again, Eddie cums for the second time, sobbing Richie’s name and bucking against him, riding out his orgasm against the flat, broad span of Richie’s palm.

Richie starts to pull out afterwards, but Eddie whimpers when it jostles his sensitive hole, his body clenching, trying to keep Richie inside, and Richie’s content to stay like that, soft inside him, soothingly layering kisses over Eddie’s shoulders and back, stroking his stomach tenderly.

Eddie wonders if Richie will stay inside him until he’s ready to go again, his cock swelling slowly, stretching Eddie back open on his dick, and then fuck him again, adding a third load to the mess plugged up inside him. It’s a gross thought, but to his sleepy, dick-stupid brain, it’s possibly the greatest thing that could ever happen.

He tells as much to Richie, sleepily rubbing his cheek against the soft warmth of Richie’s chest, and he laughs, wrapping his long arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer as he lets himself slip back into the boundary between sleep and wake.


	20. Virginity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They hadn’t done anything that night, sated just by holding each other, reveling in the rawness of being allowed to _touch_ , simply skin on skin, Eddie’s palm to Richie’s cheek, their legs tangling in the sheets. Richie twines their hands together, and can’t help but marvel at the way their fingers have grown as if made for each other, Richie’s long and pale and Eddie’s delicate, with anxious, bitten down nails.
> 
> “We can go as slow as you want,” he’d promised then, brushing his lips across the ridge of Eddie’s knuckles, because Eddie deserves something good, something that isn’t fumbled and desperate on the first night they’ve gotten each other back, while Richie’s hands are still trembling and Eddie’s whole life is crashing and burning around him.

Richie’s first time kind of fucking sucks. It consists of a fumbled handjob during which his hand is so sweaty that he jokes to the guy laid out under him in the cramped college dorm room, “We don’t even need lube,” referring to the clamminess of his fingers, to which the guy grimaces, not finding it nearly as funny as Richie wishes he would.

The point is, Richie’s first time is _ass_.

And then he’s forty and it’s a distant memory in the face of every other experience he’s had, each that same frustrating mix of satisfying and meaningless at the same time. He’s had long-term lays, pretty boys with sun-freckled cheeks and loud mouths that have him grasping at straws for something that eludes him right when he’s on the verge of understanding, driving him up the wall for just short of three fucking decades when it comes back to him all at once—Eddie Kaspbrak, with his beautiful eyes and clever mouth and propensity for making Richie want to sink to his knees in worship.

The Losers spend a lot of time catching up on missed life events, though much of their adult lives previous to reuniting winds up becoming rather traumatic, for many of them, none more so than Eddie, who winds up freshly divorced and uprooted at the age of 40, and moves all the way across the country to live with a man he’d once loved.

It’s only under the cover of night and drink, the last day after they’d finished up business in Derry with It, their lives shaken apart and ready to be put slowly, carefully back together, that Eddie admits it to him, because they’ve been moving fast since the first tender, hungry kiss at the quarry, clinging to each other, Richie shaking and refusing to let go of him, Eddie winding his arms around his shoulders and drawing him down to press their mouths together.

Eddie drags him to the side of the hotel bar, away from Stan’s knowing grin and Bev’s prying eyes as she crows after them to be careful and use a condom, to be alone together for the first time all day.

He’d been shy about it, mouth twisting into a self-deprecating grimace, cheeks stained red in a way so reminiscent of how he’d blush when Richie would tease him as a kid, and as Richie had fumbled with his room key, he’d stammered out, “I’ve actually uhh—I’ve never really—”

“Never?” Richie had asked, hushed and astonished, gazing into Eddie’s soft, beautiful eyes, disbelief filling him, because it’s unthinkable that no one has had perfect, sweet Eddie Kaspbrak before him. “Not even Myra?”

Eddie’s eyes are avoidant, traveling around the standard inn room Richie’s made himself home in during the past week, but he says in a steady enough voice, “No, especially not her.”

They hadn’t done anything that night, sated just by holding each other, reveling in the rawness of being allowed to _touch_ , simply skin on skin, Eddie’s palm to Richie’s cheek, their legs tangling in the sheets. Richie twines their hands together, and can’t help but marvel at the way their fingers have grown as if made for each other, Richie’s long and pale and Eddie’s delicate, with anxious, bitten down nails.

“We can go as slow as you want,” he’d promised then, brushing his lips across the ridge of Eddie’s knuckles, because Eddie deserves something good, something that isn’t fumbled and desperate on the first night they’ve gotten each other back, while Richie’s hands are still trembling and Eddie’s whole life is crashing and burning around him.

Eddie’s not patient by nature, though, and it’s so fucking easy to fall back into the relationship they used to have, bantering and loving and _real_ , Richie can’t believe how real it is, how he feels like a sleepwalker awakened for the first time since he’d been thirteen, living true and raw and in color. It’s not even a month later that Eddie pulls him into the bed Richie’s taken to referring to as _theirs_ , instead of just his, anymore, and says, his dark eyes sparkling with adoration, “You still got those condoms?”

For the first time in a very, very long time, Richie’s nervous about getting undressed, but Eddie seems to have no qualms about crawling into his lap and unbuttoning his shirt with quick, nimble fingers.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks weakly against Eddie’s eager, searching mouth, carefully brackets Eddie’s slender hips and holds him fast.

He kisses back for a bit, sucks the tongue Eddie brushes past his lips, but when Eddie gets handsy, dragging his fingers through Richie’s hair, the apprehension crests through him, frigid in comparison to the heat of the desire burning low in his belly when Eddie mewls into his mouth, a noise so quiet and vulnerable that Richie freezes completely.

He wants this to be as close to perfect as he can make it, because his own first had been so bad, because so much of Eddie’s life has fucking sucked and Richie just wants everything to be perfect and feel good for him, because Richie loves him so much that it’s this constant heavy thing he carries around in his chest, that makes his throat tight and his eyes teary when Eddie cups his face in his hands and asks, alarmed, “Rich? Are you okay?”

He clears his throat before he dares answer, and even then, his voice comes out gravelly with emotion. “I’m fine, everything is good, Eds.”

Everything _is_ good. Eddie is in his bed, dressed in only his underwear and a shirt that hangs off his narrow shoulders that Richie’s pretty sure belongs to him, and he wants Richie back.

This last thought is jarring—that Eddie _wants him back_. That Eddie is practically handing him his fucking _virginity_ on a silver platter, a fantasy he’d had tens, if not dozens of times in the privacy of his adolescent bedroom (albeit, twenty-something years late, but that’s just as good, if not better).

It’s shocking enough to kickstart his brain, and he gasps, breathless, “Hang on, there are like, a million things we should talk about before we just dive headfirst into this.”

Eddie kisses him sweet and lingering, curling a hand around his jaw, tilting their foreheads together. “I’ve been thinking about it, Richie,” he says, eyes solemn, soft brown below the dark strokes of his eyebrows, “I’m serious. I don’t wanna keep freaking out over this shit. I want _you_. I _have_ wanted you, the whole fucking time.”

“Oh,” Richie says, speechless for once until Eddie kisses him again, deeper, his hands curling through Richie’s hair, and this time Richie doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, sliding a palm under Eddie’s shirt up the warm span of his back, getting acquainted with the feeling of his skin, so fucking soft under his hands.

Things progress pretty naturally from there, and Richie mouths down the line of Eddie’s throat, sucking a bruise right above the collar of his shirt, and Eddie tilts back off his lap. Richie moves with him, pushing him flat against the bed and sinking back between his thighs.

Then Eddie murmurs dizzily, “…I did an enema,” and lets his eyes flutter shut.

Richie stops dead in his tracks, halfway down Eddie’s body, hands hovering above the hem of his shirt. “You did?”

Eddie’s brows pinch together. “Yeah, why do you sound so fucking surprised, asshole? Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“No! I mean,” Richie’s dick gives a very interested twitch at the thought. “Yes, you are. Well, you can. Knowing you, you’re going to do it every time.”

Eddie looks a little defensive at that, but Richie hooks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear, dragging them down his legs, and he arches up, pulling his shirt up over his shoulders and off.

“Weird,” Eddie says immediately, the apples of his cheeks pink, and Richie stares down at him, Eddie Kaspbrak who he has loved for nearly his entire life who _loves him back_. Naked under him.

Eddie’s chest is slender, his hips narrow and boney, his lean thighs flexing when he curls a leg around Richie’s hip, and Richie thinks he would be content to simply _look_ forever, at the sparse freckles dusting the tops of his shoulders and the bridge of his nose, the soft, dark hair down his lower stomach, his cock curved against his hip, hard. Richie thinks about the fact that Eddie is hard because of him and nearly blacks the fuck out from the wave of arousal that slams into him, oppressive with the force of it.

“Very weird,” he agrees, and when Eddie reaches for him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, he helps, unbuckling his belt and working off his jeans down his thighs. Eddie grapples with his jeans for a while, pulling them off his long legs, and crawls back into his lap, needy for kisses.

While Eddie leaves hickeys all over the long pale column of his throat, Richie reaches for the lube Eddie’s kept on the nightstand and catches his fingers around the bottle, pulling it between them.

Eddie catches his wrist. His eyes are wide, lips swollen and slick from kissing, and he says, “I know it’s going to feed your ego like nothing else, but be careful. Your dick isn’t exactly fun-sized.”

Richie can’t imagine a reality in which he wouldn’t be careful, doing this to Eddie for the first time. His voice softens when he answers, “you can trust me.”

Eddie tilts his head just a little, batting his thick, dark eyelashes. “I do,” he says with a look from those unfathomable doe-eyes. Richie’s knees turn to liquid.

He works Eddie open on one slender finger, his thoughts wild the whole time, frantically telling him, _this is Eddie, you are inside Eddie_ , as he fucks his finger deeper into the slick, tight heat of Eddie’s body, the pink pucker of his rim stretched around his boney knuckles. When Eddie bites his hip hard and says, “shit, this is crazy,” he can’t help but laugh in nervous agreement.

“Is this okay?” he asks when he presses in a second finger, and Eddie shudders on the upstroke, a full-bodied thing that Richie feels, pressed against him.

Eddie chews his lip raw as Richie tries various angles and depths inside him, the way his long, masculine fingers feel sliding through the velvety tight channel of Eddie’s body making his toes curl, and when Richie carefully corkscrews his fingers and finally hits something that makes pleasure flood through his body, Eddie grinds down against him breathlessly, his cheeks flushed. “There,” he says, dazed, “there, _there_ , Richie, oh god.”

“Here?” Richie asks, instantly alert, rubbing the pads of his fingers across the supple, slippery inner wall of Eddie’s pelvis, twitching his fingers upwards, and Eddie’s spine arches, a moan spilling from his mouth, the noise sharp and raw, igniting a fire in Richie’s belly.

Eddie’s cock leaks out a fat glistening drop of precum across his flat belly, and Richie looks at it, nestled against the nest of soft dark curls at the apex of his legs, pink at the head, more petit than his by far, though pretty average, in general.

Richie keeps fucking him like that until he’s sloppy around the fingers and he’s moaning softly, a broken helpless noise whenever Richie presses against his prostate just a bit too directly, though he does nothing to discourage it, clinging to Richie’s shoulders, kissing back eagerly when Richie joins their mouths languidly.

“Hurry up,” Eddie pants, scrubbing his palms over his cheeks, and his thumb absently slows over the scar in his cheek, still pink and rather new, an anxious habit Richie is sure he’s going to pick up more and more often as the wound heals. “Just get inside me already.”

Richie can’t even count on both hands the amount of times he’s imagined the same words being said in various ways to him, always in the same cadence, but each of those fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing when Eddie glares up at him, a familiar expression that Richie loves wholeheartedly, and tells him, “Stop staring and put your dick in me, you freak.”

Man, Richie’s so fucking in love. He can’t even imagine what love must have been like before Eddie—or between Eddie, technically, weird as that is.

He lets his fingers slide out, slow as he can, but Eddie exhales sharply when his body clenches after Richie’s fingers anyways, pushing out the copious amounts of lube Richie’s fucked past the tense ring of muscle, loosening it gradually.

He presses the thick head of his cock against the pink slick pucker of Eddie’s hole, and feels apprehension fill him again. “Are you okay?” he asks again, gazing down at him, “Are you really, _really_ okay?”

Eddie makes an annoyed noise in his throat, that trademark frown on his face again. “Richie,” he says, and this time it’s painstakingly, as if it costs him tremendous effort to even look at Richie right now. “I’ve been in love with you since I was thirteen.”

Richie blinks, his vision suddenly blurry, and he wonders if his glasses have slipped off his face somehow without him noticing before the tears clings to his eyelashes instead, and he realizes that the swell of emotion in his chest is so earth-shatteringly deep that it’s made his eyes water.

“Well,” he says softly, voice thick, “I’ve been in love with _you_ since I was, like, eleven.”

And then he lets his cock press to the wet heat of Eddie’s body, stretching him open slow, letting the clenching muscles swallow his thick cockhead, and Eddie whimpers, a drawn out sound that breaks as Richie pushes past the resistance of his rim.

“Oh,” Eddie gasps, and then, shaking, “ _oh_ , shit, R-Richie, it’s—”

Richie watches him closely, trying to decipher if the crease between his brows is a good thing or a bad, but then Eddie opens his wet, wide eyes and moans, “holy shit, I’m going to cum right fucking now if you don’t fuck me already.”

Half of him is still in shock over the fact that he’s inside Eddie, holding so fucking still that it hurts, but the other half of him is profoundly and minutely aware of every single sensation, from the way Eddie’s hole clenches uncontrollably around him when he shivers to the soft, wet gasp that spills from his mouth when Richie starts to move.

Eddie’s so sensitive under his wandering hands as he rocks slowly forward, opening him up inch by inch, and when Richie thumbs over his hard nipples, he arches up, yelping in surprise. He blinks up at Richie, wetting his pink lip with a shining little tongue and asks, voice dry, “what was _that_?”

“You never played with your _titties_ , Eds?” Richie asks, and drags his thumbs over the pink, swollen buds again, tracing circles against Eddie’s areoles until he squirms, breath ragged.

“It never feels like that when I’m doing it alone,” Eddie murmurs lowly, eyelashes lowered bashfully over his blown pupils.

Richie’s brain is a little scrambled from the feeling of Eddie’s ass so fucking tight around his dick, his body tensed with restraint and a little dazed from the realization that he is having sex with Eddie for the first time, that Eddie is gently rubbing circles against his shoulder and rocking down against his hips, his own cock bobbing against his tummy, his erection not once flagging despite Richie fucking him open with increasingly surer, broader strokes.

“So fucking good at taking my cock,” Richie marvels as Eddie’s body takes him to nearly the hilt—they’d experimented with fingers and mouths and loosening Eddie up in the past month, but Eddie’s insides on his bare cock, fucking him missionary, their lips brushing with every thrust of Richie’s hips, Eddie moaning, fucked out and stuttered, “ _ah, ah, ah!_ ” every time Richie slides all the way into him, is a raw, intense thing, and everything else pales in comparison.

“Can I?” Richie asks, and presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s swollen mouth. Eddie wraps his arms around his shoulders and clutches onto him, kissing him fiercely, more tongue than lip, his fingers dragging through Richie’s hair.

“C-can you what?” Eddie asks, his voice still shaking from being fucked, and Richie doesn’t let up once, rutting into him deep and slow, a steady pace that makes Eddie’s thighs tighten around the soft span of his waist, his hips twitching down to meet every thrust, his eyes glazed with pleasure.

“Can I touch you, sweetheart?” Richie says, tenderly cradling his face, and Eddie shudders around him, nodding eagerly.

He reaches his hand down and curls his fingers around Eddie’s dick, and feels the heft of it in his palm, the sleek heat of it, and jerks it, once, twice, and suddenly, with a cry, Eddie cums, clamping down on him, his cock spurting in Richie’s grip, the shocking warmth of his release seeping over Richie’s knuckles, his hips grinding down against Richie’s as he rides out his orgasm against Richie’s dick.

The sight of Eddie’s eyes wet with bliss, his soft, pink lips pressing together, combined with the way his body contracts around Richie’s cock has Richie cumming a second later, unable to hold off, his orgasm dragging Eddie’s name from his lips in the form of a sob, his hips fucking up against the sloppy heat of Eddie’s ass, and he whines at the feeling of Richie’s cum filling him, warm and new.

For a moment Richie’s just holding himself on his elbows above Eddie, his chest heaving as he tries to get his breath back, Eddie still and content under him, their bodies still connected, though Richie’s cock is softening slowly, his hips still rolling forward with aftershocks that make Eddie’s breath hitch, and then he curls down towards Eddie’s side, his dick finally slipping out, and Eddie’s face scrunches up at the feeling, his loose, sloppy hole twitching after him.

“S’coming out,” Eddie murmurs, sleepy now that he’s cum, and he gestures vaguely between his legs.

“You want me to keep it inside?” Richie asks, throat dry at the prospect as he settles on his side, pressing his palm flat to Eddie’s stomach. He’s got a pretty healthy collection of toys, some that have never even been used.

“You can do that?” Eddie’s eyes widen dramatically, and it’s fucking _cute_.

“Yes, my darling, I most certainly can,” Richie laughs, and leans down to kiss him, long and soft and loving. He rolls off the bed to find the set of plugs he’d had in mind, walking over to the closet naked, and it only takes a couple seconds of rummaging to find the box. He selects a flared plug and holds it up. “Is this cool?”

“In me?” Eddie asks, his voice high with uncertainty. Richie watches his mouth twist as he thinks, and finally, he mumbles, “’kay, it’s fine,” his cheeks red, eyes on the bedsheets instead of Richie.

“It’s not _weird,_ Eds,” he says, climbing back into bed, and he pulls Eddie’s legs apart in his next movement, precise and efficient.

Eddie makes a choked startled noise, but doesn’t complain so Richie sinks between his legs again, snaking his arms around his thighs to curl his fingers around his ass, holding Eddie open with his thumbs.

His cum’s dripping from Eddie’s pink, fucked-out hole in a slow thick path down the line of his ass, and Eddie goes, voice tight with anxiety, “stop looking, Rich, it’s fucking embarrassing.”

Richie thinks he’d be content to stare at this all day, eyes fixated on the way the tight pucker of Eddie’s hole clenches and another pulse of sticky white cum goes sliding out of him, but he lets go when Eddie kicks a leg out and tries to catch him in the side, grabbing the plug again instead.

“Okay,” he relents, “chill, I’m doing it.”

Eddie scoffs, and the noise is so bitchy and familiarly endearing that Richie can’t help the smile that blooms on his mouth as he uses two fingers to gather the cum seeping out of him and unceremoniously fucks it back into him, curling his fingers to keep it in, and Eddie curses lowly, moaning, “ _Fuck_ , Richie,” as he slides the plug in slowly, the flared, thick end disappearing inside him. Eddie bites his lip hard as Richie pushes it in all the way, only the rounded base visible, and when Richie pulls away cautiously eyeing him, he stretches methodically.

“Shit,” Richie whispers, feeling out of breath. He presses a hand to Eddie’s stomach and thinks about how his cum is inside him right now, and holy shit, if he hadn’t just cum right now—

“Thank you, by the way.” Eddie says softly, blushing, “I, like. Love you, or whatever.”

Richie blinks. “I like, love you or whatever, too,” he says dryly.

“Okay, I love you, idiot,” Eddie concedes happily enough, and curls into his chest, content to fall asleep like that.

“I love you too,” Richie says, and they really, _really_ don’t say it enough. It could be his gushy post coital cuddle-needy brain, but god, he wants to repeat the words again and again.

Sometimes Richie can’t believe his fucking luck. That Eddie’s really cradled to his chest like this, purring like a kitten, warm and safe and drowsy in his arms. That Eddie _loves_ him, and wants him, and they just had _sex_ , Richie realizes. Eddie Kaspbrak, his first love, his only love, really, is in his bed, and has been bedded by him.

Which, ew, bedded. Richie hates that fucking word. But Eddie is debauched thoroughly, his eyes glazed over in the best dick-stupid way, and when he falls asleep, Richie gazes down at the dark spread of his eyelashes and thinks that he’s the luckiest guy in the fucking world.


	21. Painplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s this thing Eddie gets a little weird about—when Richie presses his long fingers to the hollows of his hips and pulls him back onto his cock, fucking the breath right out of his lungs in shaky gasps, and pain flares through his hip socket, dull enough to not override the pleasure of Richie’s dick inside him, and Eddie just _revels_ in it, his brain slipping into static for just a moment as he’s cast adrift into an endless white sea of intensity.

There’s this thing Eddie gets a little weird about—when Richie presses his long fingers to the hollows of his hips and pulls him back onto his cock, fucking the breath right out of his lungs in shaky gasps, and pain flares through his hip socket, dull enough to not override the pleasure of Richie’s dick inside him, and Eddie just _revels_ in it, his brain slipping into static for just a moment as he’s cast adrift into an endless white sea of intensity.

His thing for pain must stem from some fucking trauma from his childhood, something about his mother coddling him too much or whatever; Eddie hates thinking about it with a burning severity. He’s psychoanalyzed himself enough to last a lifetime, and when Richie grabs his jaw tightly, jerks his head to the side and bares his throat so he can scrape his teeth across the nape of Eddie’s neck, he lets the feeling cloud his mind for the moment, just living through the feeling of Richie biting the soft, vulnerable curve of his throat.

He likes the moments when Richie gets a little rough, curling a tight fist in his hair and dragging his mouth closer, his thick cock hitting the back of Eddie’s throat, making him gag and wheeze for breath after he lets up, lips swollen. Richie’s weirdly perceptive when it comes to him (“ _Because I like you so much_ ,” Richie had said simply once, when he’d asked, and it made Eddie’s throat so sticky with emotion that he’d had to turn over to brush away the tears biting at his eyes) and Eddie knows he’s been found out when Richie fucks deep into him one lazy afternoon, not even making it to their room, pinning Eddie flat against the sofa and grinding so hard into him that Eddie feels it deep in his belly, and he croons, his thumb sweeping over the ridges of Eddie’s spine on his tense back, “You like this, huh?”

The _this_ in question being the way he grabs a handful of Eddie’s ass and squeezes hard enough that Eddie’s sure it will bruise the next day, blooming a deep indigo the color of late sunset over the skinny curve of his hip.

He buries his face in the safety of his forearms, away from Richie’s curious eyes that make him so flustered, and it’s only when he’s sure that Richie can’t see the heat on his cheeks that he sighs in agreement, “Yeah, fuck, it’s so good.”

He feels the vibration of Richie’s answering chuckle, his cheek bedded on his arm, and when the warmth of Richie’s hand disappears from his hip, he has just enough clarity to pull his brows together in confusion, the question on the tip of his tongue when Richie slaps the curve of his ass, hard.

He chokes on the sound, though the slap is more surprising than it is painful, and tips his head to look over his shoulder at Richie.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” he asks, and though it takes effort, his voice doesn’t waver.

Richie hums consideringly, lazily fucking his hips forward a couple times, angling the slow thrusts so the head of his cock drags over Eddie’s prostate, sweet and deliberate. Eddie really should never have made the challenge in the first place, he’s so fucking oversensitive all the time anyways, much less now that Richie knows Eddie’s into it when he’s rough.

Richie’s hand spreads over his throat, massive, tilting his head back, and something about the angle is just enough to have Eddie’s breathing slowing, shallow as Richie’s long fingers cradle his throat, laughably delicate against the way he fucks into Eddie from behind, deep and hard and slow.

“Cockslut,” Richie teases, and whereas it would make him roll his eyes or laugh in any other context, when Richie’s voice lowers to a low growl, Eddie can’t help but just go pliant against the sofa like a fucking ragdoll, whimpering dizzily as Richie mouths along the ridge of his shoulder blade and up the nape of his neck. “So fuckin’ bratty, Eds,” Richie continues rocking into him at that same bone-rattling pace, and Eddie’s cheeks are warm, his pulse thudding hard in his throat, right against the vise of Richie’s hand around his adam’s apple, taking care not to crush his windpipe.

Richie’s fingers press in on either side of his throat, and his hips stutter forward, and Eddie realizes that he’s into this, way more than Eddie would’ve thought he would be, his breath ragged, his other hand tightening on Eddie’s hip, pulling him back to meet every hard thrust, and Eddie makes a weak choked out noise, desperate not to cum before him, but Richie purposefully grinds deep into him and chokes him harder, and it’s over for him.

He cums with his heart ricocheting hard in his chest, his dick trapped between the leather sofa and his belly, and when cum slicks the seat under him, he grimaces.

“There’s _nut_ on the fucking sofa, Rich,” he whines, twisting away from the mess, but Richie’s still inside him—how could he forget? Richie’s dick is like a brand inside him, hot and rigid, and when Eddie shifts again, it pushes him back on Richie’s cock and he shudders, oversensitive.

“Should I make you lick it up, baby?” Richie wonders, still on horny-mode, and Eddie peers at him over his shoulder, watches the flush of his cheeks and the way his eyes soften when they catch Eddie’s. “You wanna watch me creampie this pussy so fuckin’ bad that you’re willing to throw your neck out?”

Eddie replies almost instantaneously, “Yeah, you fucker, so hurry up and _cum_ before I break myself for _oh_ —"

Richie ducks forward, presses his mouth to the lean curve of Eddie’s cheek, and suddenly there’s warmth spreading through him and Richie’s rocking his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, fucking his oversensitive, raw hole open.

He feels too fucked out, too sloppy and raw when Richie finally pulls out, cum seeping down over his balls, and he winces when Richie slides off him and straightens his glasses.

“Choking, huh?” Richie asks, and Eddie sits up carefully, twisting away from the wet spot, frowning down at the mess smeared across his stomach. “Or just good old-fashioned pain?”

Eddie glares at him. “If we don’t get this sofa clean in the next ten minutes, I will show you good old-fashioned pain.”


	22. Oral Fixation/Fingersucking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie’s the one everyone likes to call a Trashmouth, but the lesser known fact of the matter is that little Eddie Kaspbrak, with his big doe-eyes and sweet freckled cheeks has always been the one who curses like a fucking sailor, profanity pouring from his mouth easy as the currents of a river.
> 
> And more importantly, Eddie’s the one who won’t shut the hell up when Richie fucks into him, slow and steady, holding his hips down against the mattress, gasping, “ _holy shit_ , fuck, Richie, fuck, oh my god, _oh_ , jesus fucking christ—” until Richie has to growl “Shut _up,_ the neighbors are going to file a complaint with the goddamn HOA,” and shoves three fingers into Eddie’s mouth until he gags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got like 3 shots today so my entire left arm is super sore and also i combined day 22/23 bc im sexy and i can do whatever i want hehe

Richie’s the one everyone likes to call a Trashmouth, but the lesser known fact of the matter is that little Eddie Kaspbrak, with his big doe-eyes and sweet freckled cheeks has always been the one who curses like a fucking sailor, profanity pouring from his mouth easy as the currents of a river.

And more importantly, Eddie’s the one who won’t shut the hell up when Richie fucks into him, slow and steady, holding his hips down against the mattress, gasping, “ _holy shit_ , fuck, Richie, fuck, oh my god, fuckin’ _oh_ , jesus fucking christ—” until Richie has to growl “Shut _up,_ the neighbors are going to file a complaint with the goddamn HOA,” and shoves three fingers into Eddie’s mouth until he gags.

It’s Eddie even now, who has an insatiable libido and sidles up to Richie while he’s in the middle of an extremely important call with his manager, takes his wrist and presses his warm mouth to the pads of Richie’s fingers so distractingly, eyes sparkling like he knows what a fucking _brat_ he’s being, and whispers over the droning in the receiver, “ _Richie, watch this_ ,” and swallows two of Richie’s fingers to the knuckles.

Richie flinches at the startling heat of Eddie’s mouth, but he manages to bite back the startled noise that climbs his throat and disguise it as a soft clearing of his throat instead. His manager doesn’t even stop to take a breath, and Richie thanks every deity out there for Hollywood arrogance.

He shoots Eddie a glare and tugs his hand away, but Eddie’s got a good grip on it, holding onto his fingers tight, and he drags his tongue down to the junction of his middle and ring fingers, tongue so fucking pink against Richie’s pale hand.

He yanks the phone away momentarily, looks down at Eddie curled up against his side, the slick slide of his tongue on his fingers, and says abruptly, “If you’re hungry, I’m pretty sure the kitchen’s downstairs.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t pull off to respond, letting Richie’s fingers slip all the way to the back of his throat, and Richie can’t help it—he’s impressed.

He watches Eddie bob his head down until he gags, tears welling up in his eyes, and says idly, “Interesting,” and hums. His manager gives a shout of approval over his contribution and launches into another tangent while Eddie presses fluttery little kisses over the wet pads of his fingers.

 _Pay attention to me_. Eddie mouths the words carefully, blinking wide, dark eyes at him.

He smears saliva over the swell of Eddie’s bottom lip, watches it glisten as he halfheartedly replies to another question being asked over the line—would he be free next weekend to meet with some big producer down at the main company office?

“Sure,” he says, and shoves the digits past Eddie’s lips, roughly back into his throat. Eddie chokes over them, his cheeks flushing red, and this time the tears spill over, sparkling on his cheeks, and when he pulls off wheezing for breath, Richie decides its time to wrap things up and says over the line in his most obnoxious voice, “Okay, well I’ll see you then, bye!”

He hangs up and heaves a sigh down at Eddie, who blinks big, guileless, and presses his swollen mouth to Richie’s middle finger. Richie’s good at observing, and he’s picked up on this particular preference of Eddie’s specifically because it’s kind of sexy as fuck.

Eddie slides down between Richie’s legs, sitting on the floor and bedding his head in Richie’s lap for a moment, the soft, dark waves of his hair spilling silky over the pale sinewy stretch of Richie’s forearm. “Horny,” Richie accuses, “can’t even fucking wait till I’m done with my call, such a slut.”

Eddie nuzzles his cheek against Richie’s thigh, purring contently as Richie drags his fingers through his hair, again and again, blunt nails over his scalp, and Richie has to bite the inside of his cheek hard to keep the smile threatening to bloom loose over his mouth at bay. Eddie’s too fucking cute for his own good.

“I wanted you,” Eddie says without a trace of shame, so sweetly that Richie’s heart aches a little bit in his chest.

“You saw me a couple hours ago in bed,” Richie reminds him, looking at the midmorning time displayed on the clock, referring to the rather thorough fucking he’d given Eddie early in the hours of the dawn.

“Again,” Eddie says easily, and molds the softness of his lips to Richie’s knuckles again. “With my mouth this time.”

“You came all the way upstairs to give me head?” Richie asks, and grinds the heel of his hand into his temple. “Oh god, Eds, I think I’m finally losing it this time, there has to be something wrong with me. I must have misunderstood, because there’s no way that you came—”

Eddie drags Richie’s sweats down his lean thighs, and Richie’s so surprised that he stops midsentence, gazing thunderstruck and open-mouthed as Eddie takes his dick by the base and kitten-licks over his cockhead.

The drag of Eddie’s tongue is too hot, too startling along his cock, and he cursed lowly, bowing forward, his hand tangling instinctively in Eddie’s hair. “I must be dreaming,” Richie says dazed, and he hooks a finger into Eddie’s soft, pink mouth. The little whitish scar on Eddie’s cheek is different than the slick velvety feeling of the inside of his cheek or the softness of his skin, the scar tissue rough on Richie’s fingers when he brushes past it, and Eddie idly pokes the tip of his tongue against the scar, feeling the textural difference.

Eddie sucks cock like he was made for it, sinking down onto Richie’s dick with the heat of his mouth until the head of his cock hits the back of Eddie’s throat, and his hips buck forward—oh, he’s a _jerk_ , the thick length of his cock slipping just a little too deep into Eddie’s mouth, and Eddie’s poor throat constricts around him as he gags.

He pulls off only for a second, his chest heaving, eyes wet and mouth swollen and sloppy, just to say in the brattiest voice Richie’s ever fucking heard, “stay _still_ , Richie” before he takes Richie halfway back into his mouth.

Richie watches Eddie’s cheek bulge with his cock with a strange sort of fascination, and when Eddie swallows around him, his cheeks hollowing, tongue pressed flat to the thick throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, Richie pushes him away, takes the base of his cock in his hand and growls, “make me,” and slaps Eddie across the cheek with his spit-slick cock.

It makes a wet slapping noise and leaves a shining smear across Eddie’s cheek, across the scar, and Eddie whimpers, a desperate, raw noise that makes Richie want to slap him for real, a broad open palm across the softness of his cheek that will jerk his face to the side and make red blossom over his freckled skin.

“Open up for me, baby,” Richie coaxes, lets his voice soften just a degree, and the affection makes Eddie go pliant, as bratty as he likes to be sometimes, and he willfully lets his swollen lips part.

The sight of Eddie’s mouth open in anticipation for his load, pink, tiny tongue sweeping over his bottom lip excitedly, eyes shining, has Richie embarrassingly close already, and when he finally wraps elegant fingers around his cock, and uses Eddie’s spit to jerk off, it takes only a couple dozen strokes before his shoulders hunch forward and he gasps, balls tightening and cum spurting across the puffy circle of Eddie’s lips.

To his credit, Eddie does his best, licking eagerly across the slit of his cock, mouthing at the head and eagerly licking up his cum—which is fucking crazy, that Eddie is willing to drink every drop of his cum with such earnestness and yet goes batshit if Richie takes the subway and doesn’t wash his hands immediately after coming home, refuses to even kiss him sometimes if he hasn't brushed his teeth in the morning.

Even then, Eddie misses on an upstroke, and then there’s a streak of it over his cheek, dripping a slow, thick trail down his face. He blinks, startled, his eyes wide, and Richie’s breathless from cumming but that expression makes him laugh; a full bodied sound, and when it slows, he rubs a tender thumb, wiping Eddie’s cheek clean, and then looks down at Eddie’s own state of arousal, his dick tenting the front of his pants embarrassingly, his face flushed and hair ruffled by Richie’s hands, and smiles mildly down at him.

“Your turn?” Richie asks with a wicked grin, reaches a hand down, and when Eddie tangles their fingers together, the echo of a similar expression on his own face, Richie pulls him closer.


	23. Choking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are we roleplaying Fight Club?” Eddie asks, amusement bleeding into his voice, still not really taking this whole thing very seriously. “Because I’ll be honest, I don’t really remember shit about that movie. Or that year of my life, really.”
> 
> Richie goes, “No, like,” and curls his massive hand around the base of Eddie’s throat and suddenly Eddie’s entire brain just stops working. Goes static. The never-ending black abyss of space, and he’s floating in it, grounded only by the scorching heat of Richie’s palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why was CHOKING the chapter that made me slip on writing this daily,,, anyways yes i know im late <3 if anyone sees this fic being completed in early november no u didnt <3

“Have you ever seen Fight Club?” Richie asks out of the blue.

In Eddie’s long and extremely diverse experience, nothing good comes from outright answering a Richie Question (because that would just be too easy, and Richie has a flair for the dramatic) and so Eddie sits up marginally from under Richie’s large frame where they’ve been tangling idly on the couch for the past half hour and levels him with a considering look. He says after a moment of wary pause, “Are you going to make a weird gay analogy?”

“Eddie, that’s homophobic,” Richie says somberly for all about three seconds before he replaces it with a shit-eating grin as Eddie squawks indignantly, red faced and flustered, “Richie, we’re _married_!”

Eddie glances around the living room like Richie’s got something rigged behind the sectional to pop out if he answers wrong and spook him. “First rule,” he answers wryly instead.

Richie’s smile doubles in eagerness, his eyes sparkling when he leans back against the leather arm of the sofa. Folding a long leg into his chest, he says without an ounce of remorse, “I’m sorry to inform you that I _am_ going to make a weird gay analogy.”

“Do I get a choice in this?”

Solemnly: “You do. Because consent is sexy.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow and lets one leg unfold, draping it over the edge of the sofa, pulling his other knee up, spreading his thighs wide, and then looks up at Richie. He tilts his head expectantly.

Richie crawls between his legs and tips their foreheads together, suddenly right in Eddie’s space, the frames of his glasses pressing into Eddie’s cheek. When he smiles, his lips brush against Eddie’s, their noses bumping clumsily, and somehow when it’s Richie, with his dark earnest eyes and easy grin, it’s not weird or awkward.

“Are we roleplaying Fight Club?” Eddie asks, amusement bleeding into his voice, still not really taking this whole thing very seriously. “Because I’ll be honest, I don’t really remember shit about that movie. Or that year of my life, really.”

Richie goes, “No, like,” and curls his massive hand around the base of Eddie’s throat and suddenly Eddie’s entire brain just stops working. Goes static. The never-ending black abyss of space, and he’s floating in it, grounded only by the scorching heat of Richie’s palm.

“Is that okay?” Richie’s saying, an expression of vague concern on his face, and Eddie realizes his mouth is hanging open. He snaps it shut and tries to collect what little remains of his dignity, but then gives it up completely and finds himself nodding earnestly instead.

“What a complicated way to ask if you can choke me out,” Eddie scoffs as Richie cages him against the armrest and seals their mouths together in a surprisingly chaste kiss.

“What can I say?” Richie murmurs when Eddie pulls away to kiss at his neck, “I’m a _very_ complicated guy.”

Eddie doesn’t respond, too busy worrying the pale skin above Richie’s collarbone between his teeth, and when he bites down, Richie exhales, bracing his arm on the couch to straighten up a little bit.

His mouth drags over Eddie’s, languid and spit-slick, his long fingers pressed to the underside of Eddie’s jaw, and when he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing, Richie’s eyes go dark as he feels it against his palm.

Richie’s hand tightens just a fraction, and _oh hey_. Eddie kind of likes this.

Not the fact that Richie’s even choking him really, more like the way Richie’s broad hand feels across the vulnerable curve of his throat, the heat of his palm against the hard, quick thud of Eddie’s pulse. It makes the world narrow in to only what Richie’s doing, trailing openmouthed kisses over Eddie’s jaw, the hand that’s not curled around his neck stroking thoughtlessly over his slender thigh, all the way from Eddie’s knee to the crease of his hip. The intention behind the touch is intimate, raw when Richie tilts his face down and presses a lingering kiss to Eddie’s mouth.

His dick’s been half hard with interest since Richie first pinned him to the cold leather of the sofa and started dropping heavy kisses all over Eddie’s shoulders, bare in the sleeveless shirt he’d gone running in earlier in the morning, and when Richie finally drags a hand between his legs and rolls his palm over Eddie’s cock, he arches up into the warmth bleeding through his shorts and underwear and lets his head roll back against the arm of the sofa.

Richie takes his sweet time fiddling with the drawstring front of Eddie’s running shorts, though they’re distended from his dick working fucking overtime trying to leak through the thin material, and after another minute of Richie’s fingers dancing teasingly off the elastic waistband, Eddie huffs impatiently, “Can you get your stupid hand on my dick so I don’t cum in my goddamn shorts like a teenager?”

“That’s hot,” Richie immediately drones, but obliges easily enough, hooking his long fingers into Eddie’s underwear, and it takes some fumbling for Eddie to lift his hips and get them off the rest of the way, Richie ducking out of the way when Eddie’s leg kicks out in the process and nearly rocks his shit.

“Deserve,” Eddie says when Richie shoots him a look, and nudges Richie’s cheek with his ankle. This turns into a full-blown leg spasm when Richie tightens the grip he has on Eddie’s neck and Eddie almost kicks him in the face for the second time in a minute.

Whatever laughing complaint he may have made dies in his throat, constricted by Richie’s tensing fingers, and it comes out a wheeze instead as Richie wraps his free hand around Eddie’s dick dry.

“My favorite little masochist,” Richie croons, and Eddie’s contemplating a third kick to the head—though this one he decides against, because Richie’s kind of right. Richie’s only using his precum, and while there’s a lot, like, a fucking _lot_ , smearing shiny all over Richie’s pale fingers, it’s still just a little too dry, their skin dragging together, and Eddie makes to heave in a lungful of air, but his breath comes shallow from the pressure of Richie’s hand.

Eddie’s starting to get a little lightheaded by the time Richie pulls his hand off to spit into his palm, slicking it down the underside of Eddie’s dick, and Eddie curses low, lets his head fall back against the arm of the sofa at the feeling. Richie shifts above him, straightening up onto his knees, and Eddie blinks, tries to get the asphyxia-related haze out of his mind as he watches Richie shove his underwear down his thighs, fisting his thick cock in his hand.

Richie’s mouth twists like he’s contemplating, and he loosens his grip on Eddie’s throat. Eddie sucks in a deep gulp of air instinctively, and everything spins dizzily as it reorients itself, and his dick’s so hard it _hurts_.

Richie gathers his palms then with careful fingers, and Eddie wonders idly what he’s trying to do, but then Richie takes one of his wrists and brings his hand to his mouth and licks a long, broad stripe down his palm.

“Ew,” Eddie can’t help but say, and it makes Richie grin in a way that Eddie’s conditioned to be wary of, lecherous and loose. He leans down, drags his tongue over Eddie’s cheek, licking a wet path almost up to Eddie’s temple, and he gasps this time, twisting away. “ _Richie!_ ”

“Oh, yeah,” Richie teases, but swipes the back of his hand clumsily over Eddie’s face in a halfhearted apology, “say my name like that more, baby.”

“I can think of a couple other names to call you,” Eddie grumbles, but allows Richie to press a couple fluttery kisses to his cheeks without complaint.

“If the ones you’re thinking of aren’t Daddy or Best Husband In The Universe Who Also Happens To Have A Massive—”

Eddie doesn’t let him finish. He’s gotten the gist of what Richie’s doing, slicking his palms and lining their hips up, so he curls his hand around Richie’s dick, gets his other hand around his own dick, and cradles them together, and Richie just trails off into a noisy exhale.

Richie’s hands are _huge_. They’re not of human origin, they can’t be, when he makes it look like such a simple fucking task to hold both his and Eddie’s dicks in one hand and Eddie’s struggling even with two. Eddie’s all caught up in that instead of the hot drag of Richie’s cock on his until suddenly Richie squeezes his throat again, forcing his breath shallow.

What is it about the gentle burn in his chest that makes Eddie’s mind blurry and focused at once? He feels so floaty, untethered from every little thing except for Richie’s body, warm and sure and strong. He lets himself sinks into that feeling just a little, his fingers laced carefully, holding their dicks flush, and Rich braces a hand on the arm of the couch by Eddie’s head, ducks down to kiss him lingeringly, knocking their foreheads together.

And God, Richie likes eye contact like this, their temples tilted together, faces a hairsbreadth apart, Eddie’s wide, startled brown eyes against the lidded, dark intensity of his own gaze, and Richie fucks his hips forward into the circle of Eddie’s palms.

Eddie’s brows pinch together when it makes Richie’s slick cock slide over his own, the sleek friction making him shiver, a full body thing punctuated by a noise like a sob that rips from him strangled from the lack of air, and cums so hard that his brain goes static with it, blank for an instant with the white heat of lust, his cock spilling over in his loosely laced fingers, and Richie jerks above him, Eddie’s cum slicking the way when he rolls his hips forward again, against the soft, wet slide of Eddie’s palms.

He’s still dizzy and out of it when Richie cums, wrenching his hand from Eddie’s throat and grasping the edge of the sofa instead so tight that his already-pale fingers turn bone white, gasping against Eddie’s mouth, not exactly kissing but not exactly _not_ kissing when they’re pressed so close.

“Richie,” he says after a moment, his voice solemn and considering.

Richie looks down at him, instantly concerned, and Eddie presses his fingers to his sore collarbone and wonders with no small bit of delight if he’ll have smudgy soft bruises lining his shirt collar the next day. “That was nothing like fucking Fight Club,” Eddie says. “Read the fucking book.”


	24. Toys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about Eddie’s annoyed, bitchy face gets Richie’s rocks off like nothing else, and sometime around maybe their third time having sex ever, Richie cums across Eddie’s hip, which earns him a glare and a sharp, “can you _not_ pull out every single time?”
> 
> His mind goes a little blank at the thought of not pulling out, fucking his load into the tight heat of Eddie’s body instead, just to watch it drip right back out when he pulls out, softening, his cum spilling down the line of Eddie’s ass when the sloppy, fucked out pucker of his hole stays gaping from Richie’s fat cock for a fraction of a second.

The first couple times they have sex, Richie pulls out.

There’s really no reason for it except that Eddie gets all cute and worked up and huffy when there’s cum splattered across his back or his hip, or the once Richie had dared, tilting his delicate jaw with long fingers, over the freckles spilling down the curve of his cheek. Richie’s got a built-in radar for all things Kaspbrak that’s retuned itself to Eddie as an adult as well as it had with Eddie as a kid, and he reads Eddie’s annoyance in the furrow of his brow as easily as if it had been yelled in his face.

They’ve never used condoms, because ironically, _Richie’s_ the one with an honest-to-god latex allergy and “it’s not like you’re doing this with anyone else,” Eddie had scoffed to him, and Richie had answered with a very mature, “except your _mom_.” And so, they’d started bareback from the very beginning, with not much experience on Eddie’s end of things and a clean STD test on Richie’s.

Something about Eddie’s annoyed, bitchy face gets Richie’s rocks off like nothing else, and sometime around maybe their third time having sex ever, Richie cums across Eddie’s hip, which earns him a glare and a sharp, “can you _not_ pull out every single time?”

His mind goes a little blank at the thought of not pulling out, fucking his load into the tight heat of Eddie’s body instead, just to watch it drip right back out when he pulls out, softening, his cum spilling down the line of Eddie’s ass when the sloppy, fucked out pucker of his hole stays gaping from Richie’s fat cock for a fraction of a second.

The fourth time they’d gotten around to it, rolling into a hotel bed in Seattle, rain beating against the window, Richie’s jittery from the show he’d just finished, and when he gives Eddie his first official creampie at the tender age of forty, Eddie cums so hard that he passes out.

They stick with that for the most part, and because Richie’s learned to read Eddie with careful focus, he gathers from the little hints Eddie drops that he’s _into_ it, his hips grinding down against Richie’s, whimpering when Richie fills him up and holds onto his hips to keep him from twisting away. Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, an absolute _cumslut_ , moaning wanton when Richie pulls out and plugs him up with his fingers instead, and Richie tucks the realization into his mind into the same place that he has a million other things about Eddie catalogued, from the way his nose wrinkles when he’s trying not to laugh at Richie’s lame jokes to the number of freckles on Eddie’s back, counted one lazy afternoon when the hazy sunlight spilled across his back and made him look like he’d been glowing, haloed in the golden light.

And it’s nice, to give Eddie what he wants for the most part.

But he’s a simple man with simple needs. If Eddie’s giving him that exasperated, half dazed fucked-out look when he’s postcoital and grimacing down at the impressive load Richie’s cock just spilled in the valley between his hips, then Richie spends most of the aimless tangling pillowtalk-slash-cuddling session that follows being even more aggravating than usual, giddy on the afterglow and needy, pressing his massive hands to Eddie’s hips and kissing all over Eddie’s shoulders, his collarbone, the curve of his cheek, wherever he can reach, the urge to be close insatiable.

Eddie’s got other ideas, though, dragging his fingers through the slippery mess on his flat belly, and when he looks up, his own cock soft and sticky between his legs, all loose and pliant from being fucked, his shoulders relaxed but his brow pinched in annoyance, Richie wants to capture the expression and keep it forever with such a childish foolishness that it takes even himself by surprise.

“Rich,” Eddie says, and shifts marginally against him, the nudging against Richie’s thigh with his foot. Brings him back to earth, just a little bit.

“Yeah, shit,” he mumbles breathlessly, gathering his bearings as best he can, reaching over Eddie to the nightstand, pinching literally the most boring, modest little black plug between his fingers. Eddie has no flair for fun sex toys, much to Richie’s chagrin when he’s showing him pictures of pink glitzy plugs made of glass that Eddie vetoes within five seconds of seeing, but the little silicone number in his palm works just fine.

This is their compromise. Richie can be as gross as he wants, slapping his slick cock against Eddie’s lower belly, rubbing across the warm, sweat-slick skin a couple times before he cums all over Eddie’s stomach, only if he cleans up afterwards and gives Eddie what he really wants.

One of the quickest things that become apparent through their increasingly stretching boundaries is one that Eddie won’t budge on—which Richie is perfectly okay with, because Eddie is valid and shit, but Eddie will not come _near_ a dildo, complains about how oversensitive and weird and _not_ close to cumming he is every time he’d tried one or had one used on him, but _this_ :

Richie’s long, pale fingers sweeping through tacky, cooling cum on his belly, slicking them thoroughly before presses them to Eddie’s stretched out hole, pushing them in past the puffy, tight resistance, and Eddie’s eyes flutter, sticky and a little sleepy as Richie pushes the last of his cum into him and slides the head of the plug into him, Eddie’s body swallowing it slowly until it’s seated all the way inside him.

Eddie’s such a slut for being stuffed full, and though it takes a roulette of toys for them to figure it out, pairs of discarded handcuffs and blindfolds and spreader bars stored in their guest room closet(where they remain for another year, until Stanley comes to visit on a two week trip and finds them on the third day, and after that Eddie spends the rest of his trip unable to look at him after seeing the way he’d taken the utterly debaucherously number of sex toys in stride, despite Eddie telling him, red-faced and wanting to die, “we didn’t _use_ them!”) the blissed out grin Eddie gives him when he sits back is reward enough to make the effort worth it.


	25. Body Swap/Masturbation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my clown twitter](https://twitter.com/tozierCOCK)
> 
> (also, before you ask. somewhere between jack and ziggy.)

Eddie wakes unusually late for a Friday, and he slits his eyes open against the hazy morning sunlight, disoriented and still half asleep, and thinks idly to himself, _huh, that’s a weird place to keep an old picture of me_.

And then he remembers the configuration of their room—he’d complained about it, once, while Richie had manhandled him onto his hands and knees in the shadowy blue light of an early morning, that it’s an embarrassing place to keep a mirror where he can see himself in bed. A mirror.

He sits up in a rush, and the teenage Eddie Kaspbrak in the mirror follows the movement exactly, eyes wide and spooked and fucking _huge_ on his pallid, drawn face.

He looks down at Richie next to him, still asleep and dead to the world, _forty years old_ , the exact age Eddie had gone to sleep as (plus a couple months in change, Richie always liked to remind him as kids and laughs now when Eddie calls him _old man_ whenever he complains about his back hurting) and figures he has about five minutes until his brain wakes up completely and starts to panic.

“Rich,” he breathes, and the sound of his own voice startles him, high and thin with anxiety. “ _Richie_.” He knocks his wrist, thin and bony, against Richie’s shoulder, and this time, to his relief, Richie’s lashes flutter and he begins to stir.

Richie blinks groggily at him a couple times in the hazy late morning light, and Eddie watches him silently. He sees the exact moment Richie’s eyes widen in surprise, his mouth hanging open like a fool as he stares up at Eddie hunched over him.

“Am I having a weird sex dream?” he jokes weakly.

Eddie pushes him out of the bed.

-

Exactly twenty minutes and half a mug of coffee later, Richie still blinks at him owlishly from across the kitchen table, staring so unashamedly that Eddie flushes a little bit and resists the urge to snap at him to stop.

He’d snuck off to the bathroom while Richie put the coffee on in a daze, still half in disbelief, desperate to look in the mirror again. His expression in the reflection had been one of incredulity, all startled dark eyes and a goddamn wealth of freckles dusting the bridge of his nose, along the soft (so fucking _soft_ , he can’t help but think in horror, poking two sharp fingers into the soft give of stubbornly lingering baby-fat) curve of his cheek, even down his neck and into his shirt collar.

The face in the mirror is younger than his by far, but the longer Eddie scrutinizes it, the more confusing the features become, his familiar crow’s feet and years of worry lines smoothed out on adolescent skin. It’s almost too jarring to see himself move in the reflection, with sharp, jerky reflexes.

He turns away pretty quickly, feeling something akin to vertigo spin dizzily into shaking, skinny limbs.

Back in the kitchen, after Richie’s finished downing his first mug of coffee and refused Eddie one, citing his shaky hands and general aura of anxiety, he cocks his head and gives Eddie a long considering look.

“This is weird as shit,” he says, “but I have to admit, I forgot how fucking cute you used to be.”

Heat flares in Eddie’s cheeks at the words, and the flush only makes Richie watch him more intently, the curiosity practically pouring off him in waves.

“M’not cute,” he grumbles as if by instinct, but the blush, unwitting as it is, doesn’t exactly help his case. Richie had always teased him about it as a kid, and though he’s definitely a couple years older than he’d been when he had left Derry, an age Richie never got to see him as, it elicits the same mischievous sparkle in his eyes as it had the lanky, boyish Richie of his memories.

“Sure,” Richie agrees easily in a voice that suggests he doesn’t believe it at all.

“So how old are you?” he adds on after a moment, and then instantly looks stricken. “That sounded… very scummy. I hated that.”

Eddie curls his legs to his chest and scowls at him over his knobby knees. “I can’t tell. How old do I look?”

“Oh, I really didn’t want to hear you say that,” Richie groans, and lets his head fall forward into his palms. But then, dutifully, through his pale fingers, he looks again, peering carefully at Eddie’s unimpressed face.

“…Sixteen?” he says hesitantly. “Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Oh, you finally learned how to count? I’m so glad California fixed what Derry’s public-school system couldn’t.” Eddie shoots him a sharp glare, but he can tell the effect is diminished by the way the corner of Richie’s mouth twitches, like he’s trying to suppress a smile. “And I’m fucking _forty_. Asshole.”

“You know what I mean,” Richie says with a grin, like everything is fun and fresh and Eddie’s not stuck inside an awkward adolescent body of undetermined dubious age. “Come on, it could be _way_ worse, Eds.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees weakly, “I could be like. Mentally a teenager, too. Imagine if you had to deal with repressed little teenage Eddie K.”

Widening his eyes in mock fear, Richie clutches at his chest and moans melodramatically, “A bratty teen? Oh, the horror.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he can’t help but crack a small smile too. “You’re a dick.”

“So I’ve heard,” Richie says sagely. But then his expression softens marginally. “I would also adore repressed teen Eddie K. Or any other Eddie K, for that matter.”

This is ridiculous. Eddie’s _married_ to Richie, for god’s sake, he shouldn’t be flustered and red from something so simple, but his body betrays him once again, blush settling heavy over his cheeks. “Shut up,” he says on instinct. “What are we going to do about this shit?”

Richie rolls his eyes but Eddie kicks a leg out under the table and lets his heel drag over Richie’s shin in a familiar way and he’s placated enough. “Fine,” he says dismissively, “first we figure this out, then we’ll tackle why you’re a little gremlin who can’t take a compliment.”

Eddie grimaces at him. “I would say let’s call someone, but I don’t want everyone to freak out and get worried over this. Maybe we should just go on with our day and go get brunch.”

“You want to get brunch looking like _that_? In L.A? The paps trailing us are going to think you’re like, your own illegitimate son or something,”

“What’s your plan, then?”

Richie laces his long fingers under his chin and regards Eddie contemplatively. “Wait it out? Try not to make people think I left my husband for a doppelganger half his age? I’m sure the Netflix execs would have a field day with that one.”

“Ugh, right,” Eddie remembers with disdain. “ _Netflix_. Those fuckers would lick your hole if you asked, why do you even care what they think?”

“Because they have the power to fire me and cancel my show, darling,” Richie throws back easily, settling back in his chair. “So? Wait it out?”

Eddie hates when Richie makes more sense than him. He also hates how sexy Richie looks when he’s being the logical one—perhaps only because it happens so rarely, and right now he feels like a fucking kid and Richie looks and sounds like an adult, and _why_ is that getting him so hot?

He blinks and replies a beat too late, “Yeah, okay, that’s fine. We can wait it out, or whatever.”

Richie nods encouragingly, and Eddie thinks that’s the end of it.

-

The horrible tragedy of being forty-one fucking years old and trapped in a gawky, awkward body with clammy hands and way too many hormones is this: Eddie is _horny._

Monstrously horny. Ceaselessly, infinitely horny, all the time. 

Three hours into the day, Eddie’s trying not to think about it, replying to some emails and doing some work on his laptop, perched on one of the barstools lining one side of their island. The issue is that Richie’s loitering in the living room, and though some semblance of their normal routine has been restored despite the morning’s setbacks, Eddie’s finding out very quickly that some parts of his body don’t cooperate as well as others.

He’d tripped on his way to grab milk for his cereal, and then banged his hip clumsily against the counter twice already, not yet adjusted to the amount of spatial awareness needed to exist in a body that’s still growing, and it throbs dully now as he gingerly presses his fingers to the bruise blooming across the pale, soft skin.

And even that—a curious touch of his own hand to the curve of his waist, the muted ache of pain against his hip, is enough to make his dick twitch with interest in the too-long sweatpants he’d shoved his feet through this morning.

How had he ever survived being a teen the first time around?

Richie glances at him curiously over from the living room when he presses his fingers harder to his hip, feeling the bones under his skin, and the throbbing hurt of it registers in his brain a second too late, making him whimper, embarrassingly loud before he can stop it.

“Dude,” Richie says slow, and he kind of sounds like he’s been punched in the face, dazed and wide-eyed. “Are you. Like. Jerking off in the kitchen?”

Eddie’s jaw tenses petulantly. “Well, do you want me to come jerk off in the living room instead?”

Richie makes a half-strangled noise, but when he doesn’t object, Eddie slides off the island and strides with purpose to the living room, tries to look as sexy as possible, because Richie’s starting to look white as a sheet, pink lower lip caught between his teeth in worry. Unfortunately, his added horniness only makes his ungainly limbs clumsier, and he knocks his hip against the counter once again on his way there, doubling over with a wheezy gasp of pain that makes Richie straighten in concern.

“I’m fine,” he says when Richie makes to get up. As if to prove his point, he drags the slightly loose elastic down, exposing the pale freckled curve of his hip, discolored reddish from how many times he’s accidentally hit himself.

Richie makes a soft sympathetic noise at the sight. “You know who you remind me of, with those big eyes and shaky legs?” he teases, one long-fingered hand reaching out to delicately stroke over the forming bruise. Eddie’s already got an idea of what he’ll say, but nothing can stop the way his dick hangs on every word dripping from Richie’s mouth in that gravelly voice, echoed by the slow soak of precum through the front of his boxers when Richie practically croons, “my little Bambi.”

“Am _not_ ,” Eddie says primly, letting the sweats pool around his ankles, stepping out of them in only the boxers under, his dick already embarrassingly hard.

“Wait,” Richie’s begun to say, but Eddie’s already sliding into his lap, knees on either side of his hips. He braces his hands on the back of the couch and cages Richie’s shoulders with his arms and arches a brow in question.

“This is a little weird,” Richie says, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I mean, you’re like. Hopefully an adult? Fuck, this is more than a little—”

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts, “watch this.” He shifts his hips forwards, drags his dick across the soft give of Richie’s stomach, makes him feel how hard he is, leaking profusely through his underwear.

“Eddie,” Richie says, his voice shaky with warning. He’s barely daring to breath, the set of his jaw tense, the tendons in his arms stark from a tight, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the sofa.

Eddie feels oddly powerful, despite being so much smaller and sitting splayed across Richie’s lap like this, knees bracketing his hips. “Richie,” he replies in the same tone, but it comes out so fucking bratty when his voice is pitched like this, and it only makes Richie’s posture stiffer. “Relax, baby, don’t kid yourself. I’m the one in charge here.”

“You’re an asshole,” Richie says, and tips his head back against the back of the sofa, his throat bobbing on a hard swallow, long and white and right there, perfect for Eddie to mouth at.

He ducks forward and presses a chaste kiss to the underside of Richie’s jaw and he startles so hard he nearly knocks his chin against Eddie’s temple. His cheeks suspiciously red, Richie repeats “ _oh,_ you’re such a fucking _asshole_ , Eds.”

“No,” Eddie purrs, slow, vindictive, right into the hinge of Richie’s jaw, scraping the soft swell of his lip against Richie’s stubble, “I’m _jailbait_ , baby.”

He grinds down, needy for friction against the throbbing heat of his cock, eager to feel if Richie’s just as worked up as he is, but Richie’s hands fly to his hips and forcible still him, fingers fitting around his narrow waist, and unthinkingly, Eddie moans at the sudden pressure against the bruise there.

Richie’s eyes are wide, his face flushed pink. “You’re insane,” he wheezes, but when Eddie ruts forward again, Richie doesn’t throw him off his lap like Eddie’s half expecting him to. Instead, he keeps his fingers around the grooves of Eddie’s hips, moving with him. “You can… you can get off if you want. But that’s _it_. I’m serious, Kaspbrak.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, nuzzling into the junction of Richie’s shoulder and neck, sucking wet bruises onto Richie’s warm skin, “you want me to cum grinding against your hip? Like I’m a desperate, horny kid? Fuck, Rich, I _feel_ fucking desperate, it’s so fucking good, my entire body’s on like, cloud fucking nine just humping your fucking stom _—oh_.”

He gets cut off abruptly when Richie fists a hand into his gently curling hair and tugs his head back, pressing their mouths together. “Eddie, I’m gonna say this in the nicest way possible, sweetheart. Hurry the fuck up and _cum_.”

On the last word, Richie drags Eddie down, finally grinding up against the soft swell of his ass, and even through their clothes Eddie feels the heat of Richie’s thick cock. He whimpers against Richie’s mouth, the front of his boxers soaked through with precum, and arches, works his hips back against Richie’s dick helplessly.

Kissing Richie like this is different, Eddie realizes very quickly. He’s smaller than usual in Richie’s lap, and he has to crane his neck to reach Richie’s warm mouth, and when he curls his hands around Richie’s jaw to kiss him deeper, it’s clumsier, with smaller hands than he’s used to. Richie’s stubble feels rougher than usual on his smooth skin, and Eddie remembers with horror how many years it took for him to be able to grow some proper facial hair.

“Wait,” Eddie gasps, and drags his boxers under his dick, taking his leaking cock into his hand. “Do you want to watch?”

Richie moans helplessly, nodding quick, his lips parted and kissed swollen from Eddie’s, and he lets his head fall back against the couch as Eddie jerks his cock between skinny fingers. “Bet you wish I’d let you touch,” Eddie rambles, feeling a little unhinged at the sight of Richie trembling with restraint under him. “You wanna touch me so fucking bad, don’t you? Shit, Richie, do you wanna touch my little cock? Feels so fucking good, your hand would be so _big_.”

Richie’s hands wander down to his waist, lingering at the hem of his shirt before rucking it up his chest, and though he doesn’t take Eddie’s cock into his hand like Eddie desperately wants him to, he does something just as good, pressing his broad palm to Eddie’s soft bare belly. He stifles a gasp into Richie’s mouth at the feeling, the long spread of Richie’s fingers nearly big enough to cover the entire span of his narrow waist, grinds his ass against the throbbing heat of Richie’s cock and cums like that, shuddering and whimpering and biting at Richie’s lips until they’re swollen and pink, riding his orgasm out against Richie’s hip.

“Holy shit,” Richie says into his ear, incredulous as he feels Eddie’s cum seep warm between them. “Oh my _god_.”

Eddie bats his wrist gently until Richie’s hand falls back to his lap, and then unceremoniously, he gestures between them and asks, “do you want me to?”

“No!” Richie says so vehemently that he curves an eyebrow questioningly. “I can uhh… do it myself. That’s crossing into a little bit too weird.”

Eddie stifles a yawn into the heel of his hand and tucks himself back into his boxers, loose-limbed from his orgasm. “Okay, well I’m going to go take a nap then,” he tells Richie, who still looks absolutely shell shocked on the sofa, staring down at the wet spot at the bottom of his shirt with wide eyes, his own dick straining monstrously against the front of his pajama pants. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I mean, I’m going to beat my dick raw,” Richie says a little unsteadily, “but yeah. Have a good nap.”

“Don’t make a mess,” Eddie reminds him, and kisses his damp hairline.

(Approximately an hour later, he wakes up and the world is disoriented again. In the mirror, his face is lined with age and Richie sidles up behind him in the bathroom and kisses him breathless, a wide grin on his mouth when he tells Eddie with all the love in the world, “welcome back, baby.”)


End file.
